


The way of your World

by agiftedmind



Series: The Way of the World [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - corrupt society, Background Relationships, F/M, Implied miscarriage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape/Non-con Elements, heed the tags, pairings will be added as revealed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 62,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agiftedmind/pseuds/agiftedmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFA/G1 et al fusion. Generally AU after 'Fistful of Energon'/late season two. </p><p>After Prowl goes missing -spirited away into Decepticon space- a past starts to emerge. One that has been long forgotten and buried, holding secrets from not only the Great Wars, but from an Age when the Rule of Four was in its twilight hours. </p><p>It's a past that has far-reaching, possibly deadly, consequences, the least of all being a missing Ninja taken by a lone bounty hunter.</p><p>Everyone has a tale to tell in the tapestry of fate. It's not pretty, it's not nice, yet maybe there's a happy ending somewhere in all of this... Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> The story's plot is slow build. It's generally AU after Fistful of Energon and uses the rest of season two in an altered way. It outright ignores season three/the Almanac, and drags in G1, Prime, Beast Wars, and IDW characters/characterisations, along with other continues as needed, though the roles might not be as expected. This is a dark fic that will not pull punches, though some chapters posted here may be edited versions of what goes up on AO3.
> 
> Rare ships are a thing, and canon!ships are a possibility.
> 
> Feedback is loved, encouraged, and adored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Appendix for the fic can be found here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8495083/chapters/19467877)

**(Of vanishing Ninja)**

Things seemed at a standstill for now between the Autobots and Decepticons, allowing Detroit and the surrounding area to rebuild and recover as best it could. Unknown to the Autobots, this was in part due to the real Starscream currently missing-in-action, and Megatron repairing the  _Nemesis_  when not conducting stealth raids across the planet – or teleporting in needed materials from Charr. The Decepticons on a whole weren't that concerned about Starscream; Megatron required the Sky-Lord  _alive_  to control the rest of the Seekers, and no-one was honestly interested in getting the middle of  _that_  squabble. Even  _Tarn_  liked his limbs  _attached_.

Even so, Lockdown refused to take chances; he'd called ahead like a good Decepticon would when intruding on a planet Megatron was currently having 'fun' on. He was here for pleasure, not official business. He'd enough credits in an account to fund it, and induce whinging in even a certain arms-dealer, who had apparently been here at some point in the last three or four weeks of the mudball's time.

Lockdown didn't know, or care, why.

He'd been on the mudball for three or so days – a quarter megacycle at best; partly enjoying the pampering of the automatic carwashes, partly enjoying the local drag-racing circuits, and partly because he wanted to take his time hunting his prey.

The prey in question was a Ninja with promise but lacked the training to make him a real threat like a fully-fledged Cyberninja. Likely  _why_  the kid was still alive. Same with the rest of the Autobots on Earth. If Megatron wanted them dead, they'd  _be_  dead by now. Not that it was any of his business. He had mods and his newest prize to collect, and said prize needed urgent ascertaining if it was  _worth_  keeping alive and unhacked.

Lockdown didn't want to hand something promising over to the hackers, even if Frenzy, Vos, or Sixshot would pay out the nose for one. But they weren't here, and he was.

It meant all the more for him.

Lockdown grinned and sent a communications ping across a secure, private line. It'd be easy enough to find him, but it was much more  _fun_  to chase someone who knew you were coming. The look in their optics... nearly priceless. Of course, that was  _normally_  how things went when one wasn't dealing with a stubborn Ninja who repeatedly ignored the polite commpings.

With a growl of frustration, he folded down into his altmode. Prowling the streets, he followed the kid's energy signature. It was both annoying and pleasing, more so when he found the park where the Ninja was.

Lockdown gagged on his own idling systems, though he could see the logic behind being known and friendly to the humans. Another rev– more a scoff than anything– followed as Prowl seemed intent on ignoring him, patiently putting up with the humans. Lockdown rolled his optics. Prowl was good; any other 'bot would have reacted as if the bounty hunter were a threat.

Eventually, Prowl headed towards him, the Ninja folding down to his altmode, generic holo automatically in place.

"You owe me for those mods, Prowl," he said when the bike got closer; silently, Lockdown activated his jammer. "I plan on collecting."

"I told you that if I saw you again, I'd hand you over to the Elite Guard," Prowl deadpanned. "The mods are gone. I used them to keep the Seeker clones from destroying this city several weeks ago."

"Then I have even more to collect from you. Those weren't cheap." Lockdown revved his engine, edging towards the other. "If you can catch me, then I deserve to be turned over. I don't think you can. You couldn't even keep hold of a Starscream  _knock-off_. How do you think you'll catch a real mecha?"

Prowl ignored the challenge, holo's face very much blank. "I have no time for games, Lockdown."

Lockdown smirked when confusion leaked into Prowl's EM-field. Another rev of his engine dragged Prowl's attention back to him. Now it was only a matter of time before he gave into to the desire to keep the organics as safe as he could. It seemed like an eternity in the strange face-off between bike and car–

Prowl swapped back to root-mode and took off towards the wooded area of the park, away from the humans.

Heh. Keep the stupid fleshthings safe at the cost of nature. Well, if that's the way that he wanted to play it, then Lockdown would agree to that,  _for now_. He could also use it in the game between predator and prey. A quick calculation of the Autobot's path- the backstreets on the other side, eh?- and he was off, engine roaring to life.

"Game time, kid."

* * *

Lockdown couldn't deny the thrill of the chase as he prowled the backstreets, sensors on high alert. The kid, from what he'd seen, was  _good_. Better than he'd expected the wash-out to be. Maybe he would have a hack into him and see what sort of battle processor he was running. Couldn't be more than a standard Autobot one, but some of the tactics  _didn't_  match up with what information he had on his target. Prowl was still  _young_  by their species standards, yet he'd been fighting Decepticons on this dustball for several lunar months. A mental shrug. He'd have time to ponder and review the kid's file later. He knew what he was going to do with Prowl when he found him.

It was only a matter of time before he had the Ninja in his grip.

Ah- He grinned to himself and without much of a thought, transformed into root-mode and twisted out of the path of shuriken. A visual scan of the area - tracing the path of the shuriken was foolish, the mech who'd thrown them would have moved by now. Finding nothing, he growled and there was no way of knowing if the kid had unjammed his commlinks yet.

Best end this now.

"If you don't come out soon," his hook folded down into a cannon that then pointed down the street, towards the busy traffic passing by on the nearest highway. "I'll have to  _change_  the rules."

"They are  _innocents_. Leave them out of this."

Lockdown's optics zeroed in on where he'd heard Prowl. He charged the cannon, knowing it'd force Prowl to move the more he threatened. "They're nothing but bugs, Prowl. There's so many of them on this planet, swatting a few wouldn't harm the race. In fact, a little weeding out would probably be  _good_  for them."

"Lockdown. They are  _not_  involved in this. Like you said, it is between you and I."

Lockdown smirked when Prowl showed himself, poised to leap in front of the cannon blast. He lowered the charged cannon, keeping it out  _and_  charged just in case the Ninja tried to be smart with him. "We done playing games, kid? You don't seem to be making much  _progress_  in catching me, after all."

"Well... if you put it that way."

Lockdown's face fell and he blinked when Prowl vanished - only to hiss in anger when the slagging kid jumped from behind and the cannon went off, leaving a small crater in the ground. A growl, then a few fast-paced backsteps saw him ram against the side of a building in an effort to dislodge the Ninja. At the same time, he reached up to grab smooth armour in an effort to gain grip. "Seems you've been studying."

"The Ninja with the Elite Guard left me materials to study." Prowl covered the other's optics and focused, but Lockdown shut them off before Prowl could try  _that_  particular technique. It'd be more than enough ward off the assault and he didn't need his optics with Prowl perched on top of him. While Prowl tried his little trick- barely more than a tickle than what it  _should_  have been doing- Lockdown pried fingers into armour, denting it but unable to get a decent grip. A growl built in his engine as he didn't want to use his hook unless needed, and he slammed back into the wall again. At the groan from his Ninja, Lockdown wasted no time in swapping the cannon for the trusty hook.

Once it sunk into the back of Prowl's knee, it was over in two kliks.

"Not good enough, Prowl." He pulled Prowl around to his front so the kid could see his smirk while his hand manually disabled Prowl's commlinks via tearing out a few wires before it grabbed the other leg; no point in damaging him, yet. "I've gotta hand it to you though. You're better than you were."

"I've had practice," Prowl shot back.

"With the right training you could be real good," Lockdown shrugged. "Now, the easy way or am I gonna have to knock you out?"

"You'll do as you please."

"True." He ignored the glare from his Ninja as he made his way back to Death's Head. The fact that the kid wasn't struggling proved having the hook behind the knee was a good idea. At least the walk didn't take long – only a breem - and once he was in the ship proper, he dropped Prowl onto a table in the workbay and keyed the restraints online.

"Now. Time to talk payment for those mods, kid. Any ideas how you gonna pay them back?"

"...My holo-projector." Prowl watched the other pace around the table, refusing to squirm, to give Lockdown the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Tempting; it might make a nice little bonus." He reached out with his hand and dragged it harshly down Prowl's thigh, optics lighting up when Prowl shook his head. At least the 'bot understood that action. "But not good enough."

"No. I am not a trophy. Or something for you to use. "

"You've a choice. You can pay the price I've named, or I can take it from you part by part, data-track by data-track. Even the smallest parts have value in the market. But, I'd hate to waste a chassis like yours." He traced a finger down the light-bar on Prowl's forearm as the Ninja shuddered, visor flashing in fear. Lockdown smirked and leant over the table, putting himself closer to Prowl, only to pull back with a growl when his newest toy tried to headbutt him. If that was the way Prowl wanted to play it.

Lockdown's faceplates curled in a decidedly cruel smirk. "You  _owe_  me a debt and I'll collect. Being a  _toy_  is better than  _dead_ , Prowl. I won't make the offer again. I can drag out that death too. If taken apart the right way, a mech can survive for a pretty long time without some important components. Although I've been told it's very, very unpleasant." And just to push the point home further... "Ninja also sell high on the market. Not just for parts, but the skills and teachings your kind have."

"What?"

Lockdown ignored the outburst. "Though given you never finished your tr-"

"How did you know  _that_ -?"

Lockdown grinned and dragged the hook down over the other's frame, paint and metal squealing in protest. "I have my ways."

"You-"

Lockdown sneered, red optics hellfire bright. "Make your choice, before I make it for you."

"What-" Prowl stared at his captor.

"Trust me, you  _won't_  like it if I make it."


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl makes his choice......

**(Of choices made)**

If mechs could pale, Prowl would have been white as a ghost. Instead, his optics were wide behind the visor. No. No.  _No_. This was not good. If he took the offer, he knew he'd be taken from this planet - _from his friends_ \- by the bounty hunter. He would be his personal toy.  _Interface_  toy by the data presented to him so far. If he didn't agree to that, then his death would be painful and he had no doubt Lockdown  _could_  deliver on such a threat. That wasn't even taking into account what the Decepticon said happened to Ninja. He dry-swallowed, a habit that he'd picked up from the humans. He did not want to make the choice. "... I-"

Prowl looked away, visor dimming in defeat. Better to live and fight another day than fight against insurmountable odds. "I'll be your toy."

Lockdown considered for a moment. "Giving in so easily?"

"You  _wanted_  payment, I'm giving it to you. End of talk." Prowl's hands fisted when Lockdown's hands roamed his frame, feeling the restraints, reminding him of the helplessness of his situation, of how powerless he really  _was_  to stop anything. His reply had been cold, but he told himself this was business. It was the lesser of two evils. That he was doing this to  _stay_  alive. He  _wasn't_  a traitor.

"You sure are taking all the fun out of this, kid."

Business like this wasn't supposed to be  _fun_. Prowl scowled and distanced himself as best he could. He had nothing to say to Lockdown, even if the mech had pulled away somewhat. He refused to rise to any bait the bounty hunter might dangle. He knew he was young, but that didn't mean he was going to act like it. Lockdown'd made it  _clear_  what he wanted, so... why wasn't he just taking it? Prowl didn't understand - he wasn't sure he  _wanted_  to, especially when the Decepticon's hands passed over the injured knee then dipped down, toying with the sparking wound there. Prowl resisted the urge to shiver and turned his attention inwards-

He yelped.

"You owe me, but  _this_  isn't how I'm getting my payment. You'll be here a lot longer the more you do this." Lockdown rubbed the wire again, just to make sure he had Prowl's attention.

Prowl inhaled a few times in an effort to calm his processor. "Does it matter? I'll be here a while either way."

"Because this is  _boring_!" Lockdown leant on the table and scowled at Prowl, ignoring the way the Ninja looked affronted about the sudden invasion of personal space. "You're supposed to fight back or something. I'm  _not_  letting you go, no matter what you do, but you could have it a lot better if you'd cooperate."

"You're in my personal space," Prowl mentally smirked when Lockdown scowled, but the Ninja continued on regardless. "I do not see why it's necessary that I react to you taking your  _payments_  from me."

Lockdown leant further into Prowl's space, grinning devilishly at the twitch he got from his Ninja. "I treat my possessions well, Prowl. Give me what I want and I can  _give_  you more than you can  _dream_  about while you're stuck here on this planet."

"Lockdown, personal space." Prowl steadfastly ignored the data that so far suggested Lockdown liked  _unwilling_  interfaces. He didn't want to consider it. The Decepticon seemed to have some morals, but-. No. Prowl mentally shook his helm and hoped for the best.

"Don't care kid," Lockdown let a smug smirk work its way across his faceplates at the glare Prowl gave him. "You've got too much potential to waste it here on this dustball. You think that Elite Guard Ninja'll teach you forever? As soon as Ultra Magnus gives him something else to do, he'll  _drop_  you."

"He left me training implements," Prowl retorted, taking the bait at last. He could have kicked himself afterwards. But what Lockdown said about Jazz- it couldn't be true, could it? No. Prowl refused to believe that of the other Ninja. "He told me that if I keep practising, I would make a fine Elite Guard one megacycle."

"Did he now? Probably second-hand pieces of slag. He can afford to be  _generous_  with his words. He was leavin' the planet and could  _conveniently_  be busy next time you try to contact him."

Lockdown smirked down at the Ninja that had just attempted to headbutt him again. Prowl glared back, jerking when Lockdown tapped his fingers on a wrist near the restraint. "With me, you could get taught so much more than even Jazz could teach you, you know. Different styles, different weapons, anything you wanted. Hell, Sixshot owes me a favour..."

The offer  _was_  lucrative enough that it caught Prowl's attention. Logically he hated it; emotionally it spoke to him in a way few things had since his Sensei's death and reignited that desire to learn, to become a proper Ninja, to  _be_  someone and not just a- a Ninja that'd been picked up by Optimus' repair crew. "You have no assurances I would not turn on you."

"Anything you learn, I learn. You wouldn't know anything I didn't. Therein lies my advantage. I'm still bigger, still stronger. I'm  _offering_  you a lot and a chance to learn, kid."

Prowl grit his denta at the decidedly predatory look from the Decepticon, then looked away, unease growing in his tanks like a puddle of fouled energon. Prowl hated this, even as his logic centres started spilling out data. This was the  _best_  way to get what he wanted, even  _if_  he risked being branded a  _traitor_. Yet could he betray his team, betray the one who'd offered to return and teach him? Jazz had been  _nothing_  but kind to him, nothing but willing to help. Yet the offer was tempting.

Optics shut off as he wrestled with his emotional and logical side. Now he wasn't looking at Lockdown it was far easier to regain his equilibrium and remind himself that he was considering making a deal with a  _Decepticon_. He  _wasn't_  a traitor. He was doing what he had to in order to survive. Perhaps he could use circuit-su to get out of this mess and get some even footing back. "I doubt you'd understand half it."

"Try me."

Prowl hissed when fingers dug into his wrist, squeezing until he looked back with a mix of anger and hate, emotions gaining a foothold. The grip didn't last, for as soon as he was looking back at Lockdown, the fingers wandered up his arm then dipped into his elbow joint, drawing a shiver and slight gasp of pain when several wires were pinched. "-You're touching me on  _purpose_."

"It's the point, kid. I haven't been  _subtle_  about my intentions." He put pressure on a cluster of tubes, grinning at the squirms Prowl couldn't quite hide. Not that the kid was going anywhere, the restraints held him fast and it finally looked like he was going to get what he wanted. It would take some more coaxing, but he was a patient mecha.

"I am your toy, am I not? Why do you not just  _take_?"

"Because your attitude is the biggest thing that interests me. If  _all_  I wanted was payment for those mods, I'd take it from your components. But you present a challenge, a game; and I hate to lose."

"It's  _not_  going to change, Lockdown." He was kicking himself, wishing that he had the time to get himself together again. The vibrations from the mech's engine didn't help; it drew splutters in protest, more so when Lockdown revved, shaking the table harder.

"I don't expect you to change. We can work together with you hating me," he seemed to study Prowl for a moment before grinning again. "Toy's the wrong word for what you are t'me. A  _pet_  would be a much more apt description. Pets  _can_  hate their masters, but at the end of the day,  _I'm_  the one with your leash in my hand."

Prowl stared. The mech could not be serious. As if pet was any better than toy. He turned his head away, only to have it yanked back by Lockdown -wait, when did the mech have two hands?- and Prowl couldn't stop the fear from flicking over his face and 'field. This wasn't good. This was very not good and with his commlinks offline there was no way he could call for backup.

Lockdown chuckled and Prowl's spark seemed to skip in its casing when he leant in closer. "What if I told you I would put off collecting my payment for a bit longer if you came along with me? Take a  _real_  look at what exactly I'm offering you."

"You would?" Prowl blinked then studied his keeper for any sign of deceit, but he honestly didn't know what he was looking for when it came to Lockdown, so it was a useless endeavour. But he wanted to believe him - believe it wasn't a lie.

"Pets get let off their leashes  _sometimes_." Lockdown didn't look away from Prowl's visor. "I don't make offers I don't intend on keeping."

Prowl nodded slowly as he gave it some much-needed thought. He wasn't happy with the situation - how could  _anyone_  be when they'd been practically claimed as Decepticon property. If he ran, Lockdown would keep chasing him until he got what he wanted, and in that case, there was also the very  _real_  risk of rape. There was  _also_  the risk to his friends and the people of Earth on top of everything else. Perhaps this way he'd avoid being raped and still be able to get some of the objects that he valued the most, before he was dragged off by the other and possibly let his team know what had happened. "So. If I asked to be… allowed… to gather some of my items... I would be allowed?"

Lockdown thought for a quick moment. "Make it quick and keep your team out of it. You alert them or bring them anywhere in the vicinity of my ship, I'll detonate something  _very_  unpleasant in the middle of the city. Same if you try and run. If you drag any of those fleshthings-"

Prowl flinched at the threats- and the implied one when a hand trailed over his thigh again. There went any ideas he for escaping. "I  _won't_. You have my word."

Lockdown released the restraints, nasty, nasty smile on his face. "Good. You've an Earth hour."

Prowl slowly sat up, careful not to startle Lockdown or do anything that would be seen as a threat. He stood, a little shaky and nodded. That wasn't much time, but he'd make do.

"Don't be late," Lockdown warned.

"Understood."

* * *

One Earth hour later, the  _Death's Head_  came back into view, and Prowl stalled for several moments. If he ran, the loss of life would be staggering. He refused to do that to innocents. He  _wasn't_  a traitor; this was the  _best_  he could do. Anyone would have done the same...

The docking bay opened when he approached and there was only a moment's hesitation before Prowl drove in; he was sparing his team, he was keeping them alive-. The door closed behind him with finality and Prowl was barely in root-mode when the ship took off. Denta grit, thoughts shaken from his helm, the young Ninja headed to the front of the ship. He found Lockdown waiting for him, the autopilot set for a destination – Mumu-Obscura?- Prowl didn't know.

"No-one saw me as far as I know."

Lockdown smirked. "I know."

Prowl eyeballed the monitors, resisting the urge to sigh as he turned back to his captor. "Where shall I put my belongings?"

"Spare room's down that way," he pointed towards the back of the ship. "Recharge berth and all. Don't expect it to lock, but it's yours."

"Thank you." Prowl nodded and limped off, not in the mood for talking. His knee hurt, his pride was wounded, and he felt like he'd just signed a deal with Unicron. Granted, everything was better than he'd expected, but the invisible noose was around his neck and there was little chance of escaping it now.

Lockdown let him go; he doubted Prowl would try and attack him anytime soon.


	3. Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Earth crew is more than a little worried. Optimus finds an Earth show he likes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cybertron operates on a base-16; I've seen it in a few fics, and it makes sense to me. Humans operate on base-10. the Cybertonian Hour (cycle) = (about) 6.6 hours. The day - a megacycle - is about 13.2 days.

_**(Of worries...)** _

"Hey boss-bot, you seen Prowl around? I thought he was due back from patrol by now," Bumblebee asked as he and Sari -complete with ice-cream in hand- made their way into the mostly empty base. "He was meant to switch over with me half a cycle ago. Come to think of it, I never saw him in the drama with Megatron yesterday, either."

Optimus glanced over at the scout with a frown. Bumblebee was right. While it wasn't unusual for Prowl to vanish for up to a quarter of a megacycle, it was worrisome if he hadn't checked in via commlinks at least once. Nor was Prowl one to skip out on patrol duties. This wasn't normal and any mech with half a CPU who knew Prowl knew that. "Have you tried comming him?"

"Yea. I go no answer," the volkswagon scratched his helm. "Bulkhead and Blurr have gone out looking for him. Blurr seemed  _really_  agitated he was missing."

"Yea, even after I said he could just be doing that meditating stuff that he does," Sari added. "I think he almost blew a transistor."

Optimus made a non-committal noise. "Why would he-"

Optimus paused. They  _were_  the guardians/collectors of the  _Allspark_. Megatron and his Lieutenants were here-

"Boss-bot?"

Optimus resisted the urge to facepalm. "We have vital Intel. Megatron probably wanted  _any_  Autobot he could get his hands on, and Bulkhead might have been a distraction."

"What-"

" _We_  guard the Allspark." Optimus grabbed the remote and started flicking through human news channels; the reporter-bots were normally pretty good at picking up anything interesting that would be going on. Hopefully, they would give some clue as to the state of things. "It's not like him not to answer his comm, at the very least."

He opened a line to Bulkhead when nothing showed up on them, given he didn't have Blurr's comm signal. The speedster had taken off without giving it to them. "Any luck finding Prowl, Bulkhead?"

"Nope. I can't find him anywhere. Not even his signal. Though Blurr said he did get a faint reading of Decepticon activity earlier. Let me ask him."

"Alright." Optimus found himself thankful it was Bulkhead, not him, asking Blurr.

"Decepticon readings? But... I thought the near-kidnapping was the first time Megatron had surfaced in like, a week and a half or something?" Sari's hand closed around the Key and Optimus looked down at the child. "But we did get my dad back so maybe..."

"That might be a problem then if Megatron's growing bold." Not exactly something Optimus wanted to deal with. The raids by the other Decepticons weren't exactly easy to deal with, but they'd managed more or less. It had helped the Decepticons had seemed more interested in getting the metal than in fighting. His optics flickered to Bumblebee. "Go check his quarters. See if he just came back without reporting in or something."

"Gotcha."

He should have expected Blurr's superfast commlink. "Repeat that."

The Intel-bot sounded annoyed, even as he spoke normally. " _Bulkhead and I are looking into the Decepticon blip. It appears to have originated_ in _the city's outskirts. We will report back on what we find_."

"Uh, right. Be careful Blurr." Optimus suddenly felt like he was out of the loop yet again. Of course he was. His crew were technically  _maintenance bots_ ; they'd never been given official titles.

"Hey, Optimus? Can I have the remote?" Sari asked. Optimus let her have it, ignoring the way the TV clicked over to children's programs. This one was about talking ponies. At least it attracted Sari's attention.

"Who's that?" He ventured, pointing to the blue-winged pony with a rainbow mane.

"Rainbow Dash. Hey, sit down and watch it with me. She's the best and this one's all about her," Sari said. Optimus declined to sit, but he couldn't ignore he was enthralled by the cartoon.

"Nada in Prowl's quarters. It was kinda bare as well," Bumblebee reported as he skidded back into the main rec area of the base, confused look firm on his face. He'd been gone maybe five minutes. "And I mean, like, there's  _nothing_  there, only one or two data pads and the organic stuff."

Optimus felt his spark sink. "Really? All of his training materials are gone as well?"

"Yea. Nothing was left." Bumblebee nodded. "If he was here, then he didn't want to be noticed for whatever reason. Man, this is confusing."

"Well, Blurr and Bulkhead are investigating now." Optimus didn't know what to say or think. If the Decepticons had taken Prowl, then  _why_  were his belongings gone too? That didn't add up. It was too early to jump to conclusions without solid facts, and he doubted Megatron would have surfaced again so soon. Unless this was a revenge thing, which honestly  _did_  seem like something the Leader of Decepticons would do, as far as Optimus knew. But the missing belongings didn't fit into anything related to Megatron-style kidnapping.

The young Prime groaned. He didn't like this, hated it in fact; it was as if fate were toying with his crew. With  _him_.

"Hey, maybe Bumblebee and I can help?"

"I'd rather not, Sari. Not until we know if Megatron's behind this or not."

"But my dad- Megaton took him once...?"

It was a legitimate concern. "Alright. But keep in touch."

"Will do, boss-bot."

Once they were gone, Optimus sat, allowing himself the indulgence of the 'My Little Pony' cartoon. If nothing else, it was a good way to de-stress, even if he thought Rarity was the best, not Rainbow Dash.


	4. Reports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron takes a spy's report, and reiterates a promise he made a long time ago.

**(Of Reports and promises)**

"Shockwave, report." Megatron was amused in more ways than one. While the kidnapping of Bulkhead had been thwarted, it'd only been a cover for his real goals. The idea of a working spacebridge from Earth into the heart of Cybertron was all good and well, yet it was improbable the plan would have succeeded, even with his troop's superior firepower and strength. Oh, he knew his warriors had captured several, but they were for another purpose, another use.

"All is proceeding according to plan, my liege. Shall I recall Agent Blurr?"

"No. Is he not here on Magnus's orders?"

"Very well," Shockwave said, antennae flicked back slightly as he nodded. Megatron noted some disappointment; he'd find out what it was at a later date. It wouldn't be the first time the young empurata victim had displayed his emotions openly. "The Elite Guard are mobilising more troops to patrol the colonies on the outskirts of our claimed space in response to the 'uprisings'."

"Pull the non-combatants back to New Kaon and the Core Worlds." Bad enough they ran regular checks (and  _more_ ) in the 'name of keeping the peace'. Megatron's optics burned at the thought of the Elite Guard sending more troops 'upholding' it. While it was true his people were warriors, one could not run an army without a supporting force, and he would not risk those lives. The Autobots called him a tyrant; they knew nothing. His people loved, respected and sometimes feared him because it took strength to choose  _not_  to abuse his power; he did what he did to keep them  _safe_  and they knew that. "Adults who wish to fight may,  _provided_  they aren't carrying."

Shockwave nodded in understanding. No Decepticon in their right mind would risk a life not yet an adult, unlike Autobots. "The prisoners with them?"

"Task Barricade with the execution of all non-permanents. The warriors will follow only when they have the chance to lure some of the Elite Guard into traps. I want them alive."

"Yes, my liege. What of your forces there?"

"Send for the Stunticons and Blitzwing's Endrae."

Shockwave's optic widened, but the spy nodded nonetheless. "Understood."

Megatron settled back as the connection cut, ignoring the pained squeal from his footrest, recently recovered from the Nemesis. Everything was proceeding as planned, even with the hiccoughs and diversions against boredom along the way. "Lugnut."

"Mighty Megatron how may I be-"

Megatron held a hand up and Lugnut fell silent. "Fetch Starscream and his 'project' from the moon; he should be near the Nemesis, if not, ask Tailgate."

Everyone liked the blue-and-white, no matter who his Endura was; it made him the near perfect social spy, and that wasn't even his actual job.

"You-" The footrest gasped. "You'll fall, like your predecessor did…"

"Is that so, Zeta? You're mistaken." His heels dug into his footstool's back, silencing it. The tyrant closed his eyes as he recalled  _him_ , smiling not long before -. Megatron shook his head with a snarl. "I'll fulfil his dream. But you won't live to see it, Autobot."

"Optimus'll never give you the Allspark-" Zeta squealed, optics screwed shut in pain.

"The Allspark?" Megatron looked down at the battered Autobot with distaste. " _Why_  would I want a mere  _trinket_?"


	5. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marching orders are given to track Prowl.

**(Of orders given.)**

"-and that's all we know, Sir," Optimus finished the report, shoulders slumping.

Ultra Magnus nodded as he mulled the report from the young Prime over while mentally pinching his nasal plate. "A team'll be sent to track down Lockdown and Prowl. However, should Prowl have gone willingly, he shall not be returning to Earth,  _is that clear_?"

Optimus kept himself from wincing and nodded. "I don't believe Prowl a traitor, but, yes Sir, that's clear."

"Good. Magnus out." He cut the commlink, then turned to his on-duty team with a heavy sigh.

"Jazz, extrapolate trajectories Lockdown's ship may have taken from Earth. Sentinel, contact Blurr; have him conduct his own investigation into this." A sharp look Sentinel's way cut any protests the mech might have had, while Magnus pulled up the data screens. He needed to send the best team to track and if possible, bring the Ninja back to Fort Max. "Jazz, I need a team-"

"I want to be part of the team." Jazz had to be a part of that team, for more reasons than just being a Ninja.

"Very well. Take Jetfire and Jetstorm."

"But, Ultra Magnus, Sir, those jets are under  _my_  command-" Sentinel Prime started, only to fall silent at his Commanding Officer's  _Look_.

"They may be of better use there than here." They couldn't exactly reveal them to the general population yet, or take them to Speed and introduce them to the surviving Autobot fliers carefully hidden away. There were other reasons for assigning them to Jazz, but the Special Ops Ninja didn't need to know. "Unless  _you_  have a way to deal with  _claustrophobia_?"

"Er- no, Sir."

"Thanks, Magnus." Jazz turned back to the terminal and finished up with the data. "I've got a couple options, but one of them's the outpost the Combaticons normally use for trading – the Neutral one - and it's the closest to Earth."

Magnus pulled up the screen, going poker-faced. Just what he didn't need. "You know the drill."

"Roger."

 _/Jetfire, Jetstorm, get your gear together, men. We've got a mission,/_  He commed the two of them.

 _/Coming!/_  One of the twins called. Jazz wasn't sure which one; they both sounded identical over commlinks. It didn't take them long to appear on the bridge of the grounded-ship, both eager for the mission. Jazz chuckled a bit; he couldn't blame them, being cooped up in Fort Max wasn't the best for fliers. At least they didn't have to deal with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe alongside the jettwins. That would have been  _not fun_ , to say the least.

Something in Jazz's spark twisted at the thought.

He shook his head and pushed away from his station. "Let's get rollin'!"

"We are to be flying, Sir," Jetfire shot back, missing Sentinel's scowl as he and his twin followed as the Ninja led them down to the bay where the smaller shuttles -each fitted with a hyperspace drive- were stored.

"We're goin' after a Decepticon bounty hunter, mechs. He's a real piece o' work, so keep your optics on him when we do find him."

"Hunter of bounties?"

"Why we going after hunter of bounties?" The twins played off each other, shoving and jostling a little as well as they followed Jazz, and the Ninja didn't mind the antics in the least. It was refreshing after the stuffy attitude of most of the mechs here. Honestly, he'd rather have all the surviving Old Crew around him. To say nothing of how the twins reminded him of the twin terrors currently assigned to Springer's command over at Polyhex. He didn't pity the ex-Wrecker.

He wisely waited until they were in the shuttle, unwilling to allow anyone not cleared for the mission to overhear. He input the coordinates for Swindle's outpost as he dropped down into the control chair while the ship booted up. "Think he mighta botnapped a friend o' mine. Our job's to see if that's  _true_ , 'n see if we can bring him back."

Jetfire and Jetstorm shared a look.

"Why botnap a mech? Was thinking-"

"-Take trophies or such. Is not making sense."

"Prowl's got himself a pretty sweet advanced holomatter projector, but from what the Earth team said, Lockdown's got some kinda  _personal interest_  in him." Not to mention  _what else_  was stored away in the black-and-gold, but that was neither here-nor-now, and thinking about it wouldn't ease  _that_  particular punch to the face. "Prowl took a couple of his mods and Lockdown prob'ly don't like that much."

A serious look crossed the jets' faces as they thought it out. Not for the first time, Jazz hoped High Command knew what they were doing when it came to Seeker things, even if they'd had more than the officially listed mechs working on it. Finally, Jetstorm spoke up, chin-handing as he did so, optics sharp, intelligent. "Is not making sense. Decepticon hunters of bounties not known to take alive. Only dead or in parts."

"But brother, are not Decepticons sneaky?" Jetfire scowled, twisting his fingers into claws and flexing them. But just it came, it was soon gone, and Jazz relaxed a fraction. He was starting to see why Magnus' had him take them along, instead of trying to rustle up Mirage or Hound.

The kids were  _intelligent_. Probably scarily so.

Jetstorm nodded. "Perhaps engagement of rules changed. Is not still not fitting known patterns."

Jazz nodded, agreeing with them at least when it came to the bounty hunter part. "Well, we'll have to get more Intel before we go around assumin' stuff. Prowl's a  _good_  mech."

"Where are we going?" Jetfire grinned and leant forward, trying to get a look at what Jazz's set the destination heading as. When he couldn't get a good look at it, he leant back in his seat with a slight sulk. "Sir, how we to be getting Intel? We are not Intel-bots."

"We're goin' to an outpost owned by a team called the Combaticons. They tend to set up shop there and keep a team of drones to handle th' docking bays. They should have a record of who was there and how long, seeing as they like to put faces to the mechs that try an' doublecross. As for Intel?" Jazz laughed before a smirk crossed his face. "Leave that to  _me_."

"Yes, Sir." Both the twins had blank looks on their faces, though Jazz couldn't blame them; they hadn't exactly been taught the various team names the Decepticons used. "What is our role?"

"Just keep an eye out for any member of the team," Jazz reached around and pulled up the file on them. At the same time, he keyed the autopilot for the shuttle; it'd handle the first leg of the trip with ease. "You learned about gestalts yet?"

"We know we  _are_  one, Sir," Jetstorm said, looking at the file curiously.

"Good. The Combaticons are a five-mech team: Swindle, Vortex, Blast Off, Brawl, and their leader, Onslaught," Jazz pointed to each mech as he named them, voice tightening with hatred at the mention of Brawl. "They combine to form Bruticus, a big nasty slagger."

"That is ugly 'bot," Jetfire pointed at Brawl, making a face. Jazz snorted in amusement.  _Ugly_  was one way of putting it.

"That is because we go against same one in simulation training, brother."

"One would think they be looking less ugly," Jetfire yelped when his twin whacked him over the head.

Jetstorm, on the other hand, nodded at the explanation - even as he bickered with his twin, memorising the faces and names. "We are avoiding, yes?"

"It is to be some effort if they are  _Great Wars_  old," Jetfire's optics seemed to bug out when he noticed that factoid.

"Yea. They didn't  _survive_  the war by being stupid, and they don't like anyone messin' with  _their_  stuff, so it won't be easy as all that." Jazz knew he'd definitely have to keep the twins close at hand during this mission. The kids were good given they were only about a megavorn and half old, but he didn't want them running into the Combaticons on their own. Especially  _not_  if all five of them were there despite rumours Swindle was  _supposedly_  elsewhere. Even so, where one Combaticon was, the rest soon appeared.

"I'm hopin' if Lockdown did do some trading with them, they'll be too busy goin' over what they got to be paying too much attention t'their own. If they leave security to the drone team, we have a much better chance of getting the Intel and leaving without a fight. Now, you kids go over that file. We got some cycles of hyperspace travel ahead of us after the 'bridge."

They nodded in unison. "Yes, Sir."


	6. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain Spider leaves Earth to find a rut-and-meal, and a quick look into Decepticon culture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing I own is Earthbane.

 

**(Of dinosaurs, and fussing.)**

"Spiderlady leaving?"

"For now yes." Blackarachnia knew she had to; it wasn't a matter of personal choice but  _necessity_  before the foul organic half decided it was going to mate with her bodyguards. Or the Decepticons, or the Autobots. At least the dinobots were too stupid to see anything other than a pretty femme. One good thing about the whole mess. The Autobots were repulsed and the Decepticons wise enough to how the spider mated. "I promise I'll return though."

"Me wait for spiderlady. Always."

"You're so good to me." She leaned against Grimlock, allowing him to take it as a show of affection. "Do keep the base safe for little old me.  _Don't_  trust the Autobots, either. Do you understand?"

All three nodded and she could almost see their CPUs working overtime. Poor things, but better they be here where she could tinker and slowly upgrade them. They would eventually join the Decepticons, she was sure of it.

She smirked then sauntered off to her ship. It was more a shuttle, but it was fast and had inbuilt warp drives; Megatron'd given it to her when she'd first joined them, after she'd passed the probation. All techno-organics got one; it made dealing with any  _unfortunate_  urges easier, though she'd long ago learned they never judged her for the affliction or the urges. No-one cared as long as it didn't interfere with her duties as a scientist-soldier, and while she was on Earth, as long as she didn't do it with Megatron's troops.

She still hated that she even had the urges, that she resorted to vile acts because of the Spider. She could go the rest of her life without it.

She set a course for Antilla; she'd find something that'd scratch the itch, and get a free meal out of it.

* * *

"Earthbane."

"'Tor?" The youngling tank stared up at her creator, shifting from foot to foot. She didn't want to leave Lucifer and go to New Kaon. The planet was the only home she'd known, and so she'd dragged it out as long as possible. But she couldn't anymore. The Evacuation Ship –a warship owned by Straxus himself- would be leaving soon.

The Evacuation had been funny at times, including a protesting red racer who'd been  _shoved_  on the ship. He was  _carrying_  and he was a doctor, and she knew he was Bonded-in the middle of war  _why_  would you. Endura was enough in war, even she knew  _that_  - to one of her 'Tor's friends. He'd  _still_  wanted to fight.

"Have you got everything?" Her 'Tor's voice brought her back to the hear-and-now.

"Yea. 'Switch's with the slave." The yellow-and-green tank pointed over in said slave's direction, the former sniper cringing when the black-and-white Enforcer gave him a hard look. The tiny red-and-black sparkling in the slave's arms gurgled, waving at her sire, mismatched optics bright, innocent. Barricade nodded. He didn't have time to indulge his youngest.

"Good. You have the codes?"

"Yes, Creator. Memorised three ways to New Kaon," she said as she rolled all four optics behind her visor.

"Your gun?"

"Yes." Earthbane twitched a bit. Really, of all the times for her dam to fuss. Her sire would have shoved her out the door by now. "I won't shoot myself in the foot." Well, not on purpose, but she was still integrating targeting and Warbuild systems properly and figuring out what worked and what didn't. It wasn't her fault if her guns went off,  _honest_.

"Good." Barricade admitted he was fussing, that he'd allowed her to drag it out as long as she had; all warriors in his position would as well. Sparklings and younglings registered to the military protocols as the only true civilians in Decepticon culture; something to be  _safeguarded_  until they could truly defend themselves, which was around the time they became an adult in Decepticon Law.

"Yer 'Tor's fussing," one of the escorts said in a stage whisper.

"I know, but do you blame him?"

The escort shook her head. "I'd do the same if you were mine, dragging yer feet an' all."

Earthbane beamed, rocking back on her shocks with pride. Barricade snorted lightly, but he didn't deny her the pride. She was one of the top of her age range. Old enough to spar without anyone stepping in if things went south as they did in a third of cases, but young enough to be protected.

"Stay safe." It was gruff, but he wasn't one for open, public affection. The only time he'd even done that was when Wildrider had been  _drunk_ , Motormaster had  _dared_  him and there had been an orgy that Barricade  _still_  wasn't sure had been physically  _possible_ , though Knock Out had assured him it was  _very_  possible. A mental shake of the helm and he nodded to the waiting escorts and the shocktrooper shoved his creations and property into their care.

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw a gaggle of jets headed in the  _Iron Breach_ 's direction, Black Shadow amongst them. Barricade rolled his optics, armour fluffing up slightly. Leave it to the  _fliers_  to be some of the last to board. He almost called out to them, then decided against it. He had  _work_  to do, and the Elite Guard would be on them before long.

He turned and stalked off to where his troops waited with the Autobots that were to be killed, malicious grin forming. It was time for the real fun, and he was going to enjoy this. No, he didn't care if any sparklings or younglings saw; Autobots were the enemy. They had no morals and never would. Plus, he needed to show it was  _acceptable_  to use Autobots as stress-balls, because if they didn't do what they did, if they left them alone, they wouldn't be like this-.

Barricade's intake was sharp and rough, a reminder he couldn't go batshit crazy because this was  _not_  a battlefield or a torture session. He looked the chained gaggle over with a critical eye; ohhh there was an Elite Guard amongst them this time. "These all? Thought we had more."

"Two were carrying. We sent them with their masters. A few were dispatched by their masters personally."

Barricade hrphed, but didn't deny the logic in that. The Autobots were the enemy, not the innocent life they carried. That's what separated the Decepticons from the Autobots. "Training, I assume?"

The grunt shrugged. "Probably. They had the hallmarks of it..."

The shocktrooper grunted. "Pike them when you're done."

He grabbed his first Autobot and claws dug into the metal of the throat as they skilfully hit  _every single wire_  between metal and vocaliser. Along with several other tubes and so forth, but it didn't matter. The Autobot was going to die and he might as well have  _some_  fragging fun. "Stupid thing."

A sharp yank, then the vocaliser was in his claws, still sparking and the wicked Decepticon held it up - and let what energon there was drip into his mouth in a disturbingly macabre way before tossing it aside and leaning in to lick up the drops on the wound with a dark purr from his engine, while the shellshocked Autobot just stood there like a petrorabbit in the lights.

The other Autobots made disgusted, distressed sounds as the battlefield rumours of Barricade drinking energon and fluid seemed to come true as his troops laughed-

Barricade  _smiled_.

There really was nothing like starting the megacycle - or sending the  _Iron Breach_  on its way - with splatters of engeron, fluids, and the screams of the dying as his claws closed in on the wounded Autobot. At the same time, his troops got to work dispatching them and piking every single Autobot head.

They even left a nice, neat pile of bodies (most of them mangled somehow) behind and a trail of vocalisers for the Elite Guard to find. Barricade couldn't wait for the Elite Guard to find them as then the party would be well and truly started.

He'd have to make some recordings for his Endura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endura is Decepticon slang for Conjunx Endura in this verse, and depending on the context, can mean different things. Most use it as an informal word for spouse. It has slightly different glyphs than Amica Endura.
> 
> Thank you for any comments/concrit you might have. It means a lot and really makes my day as a writer.


	7. Seekers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream lives in a land called Denial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started writing this, way back before cleaning it up and doing some massive rewrites, the female Starscream was named Dirge. I've chosen to keep it that way, even if it's not her canonical name.

**(Of denial, panic, clones and uh... harems?)**

In retrospect, he should have  _known_  Tailgate and Lugnut showing up outside his lab was bad news, and not because of some now-scrapped hypothetical reason like the  _Nemesis_ 's cloaks failing or prisoner stasis losing power. Neither would; solar power was so very  _very_  useful. He wished it had been though, as then he could have gotten out of it, or sent one of his scientists to deal with it. He should have known better.

Megatron knew  _everything_  it seemed.

He'd have to find a way to kill Tailgate and avoid Cyclonus's wrath. Well, provided the strange mech knew, but – Endura always knew.  _Always_. And anyway Cyclonus was not someone to be trifled with, and maybe the plan was a-

He sounded like Skywarp.  _Why_  did he sound like the clone? Uggg.

 _None_  of it should have mattered. Most of the clones were failures after a fashion, even with other Leitandi scientists aiding him.

The pair he'd sent to Earth about two megacycles ago had proved as such.

But these five were not. Only a few lines of coding, and Allspark shards, separated them from the rest of the drones, but they were  _useful_  and would be his key to revenge.

He just wished they'd chosen  _other_  names when he'd woken them up properly.

The sycophant was Sunstorm. At least it wasn't like the insane priest who'd gotten himself blown up. Ironic, given what happened to the last clone coloured like him.

The female had smirked; barrel rolled then named herself Dirge. If she'd been attractive -and pinging coding he  _ignored_ \- before,  _she wasn't now_.

The white one had called himself Ramjet, then denied it.

The coward was Skywarp. It flinched away from even a smile. The one with an ego that rivalled his was Thundercracker.

They were  _nothing_  like the mechs he'd Trined with and the mere idea that clones would  _dare_  assume  _those_  names - _glyphs and all_ \- was  _blasphemy_  yet they dared. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he still had the right to be-  _because he said so_!

They even went so far as to fly as a Trine – as a Harem, but he'd quickly debased Dirge of  _that_  idea.

He had no Trine and he answered to no Harem leader. No matter how she looked, she  _wasn't_  worthy of sparking any Harem up  _because_  she was a clone.

He ignored the tiny Skyfire-like voice that called him out. He wasn't jealous. Why would he be jealous? Being a Matria meant riding herd on-

Nope nope nope not going there.  _Ever_.

Following Lugnut to Earth, clones in tow, had been an even  _bigger_  mistake.

Trapped - _bound_  to the ground- as he was in Mixmaster's cement, Starscream, Prince of Vos and Lord of the Skies, could only stare in  _horror_  at the situation  _he'd_  gotten himself into, where Megatron's cannon was pointing and just  _what_  the tyrant was asking. Which would  _not_  have been asked, if it wasn't for  _Thundercracker_  running his mouth off about how Dirge's Trine wasn't worthy to fly in the slipstream of  _his_  Trine.

Yes, Starscream was going to kill the blue clone  _painfully_  once he was free from this mess. He might even beat him over the head with Zeta's mangled limb. Now he thought about it, Zeta's reaction to all of this had been  _hilarious_. Up to and including Megatron's sword through a leg. Mercifully, Zeta was out cold, the tyrant having grown bored of the Autobot's protests.

Annnd Megatron's voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "What-"

"Tell me, are they  _active_?"

Megatron nudged Skywarp and the coward clone squealed in fear. Starscream glared daggers at him - it -and the clone quailed under the Prince's glare. Forget beating any of them with a limb,  _no_ , he was going to  _tear wings off them himself_ -

" _YES_!" His intakes hitched as Megatron seemed to consider his answer, nudged the cannon against Thundercracker this time. Starscream struggled, optics wide as unbridled  _fear_  coursed through him -  ** _NOT AGAIN_**  –

No! They were just  _clones_. They were  _not_  his long gone Trinemates, not an incomplete part of a Harem. They meant  _nothing_  to him. Megatron's knowing, smug smile was about  _nothing_  because he was  _wrong_. There was no possible way. He'd  _felt them die_  - he'd suffered the white hot  _agony_  of losing his Trinemates - the Sky-Lord clamped down on his errant thoughts and emotions,  _glaring_  up at the tyrant who seemed to be taking cruel  _amusement_  from the display. Starscream lifted his head, jaw set for the loss he thought he knew would come. After all, it was only a matter of time before the one that  _dared_  to chain a Sky-Lord exterminated the clones. Clones that Starscream had created in the vain hope of killing Megatron and then assuming the mantle of Decepticon ruler, all because  _he could_. Instead he'd walked right into a trap and now this had happened and the world  _HATED HIM_.

Maybe he was really was a big as glitch as the blue clone-

 _ **NO**_. He was Starscream,  _Lord of the Skies_. The world just hated him right now, that was all. No, really, it did if it had planned such an elegant trap and oh Primus, he sounded like his Sunstorm clone. Ugh. "Yes. Yes, they are active."

"I don't believe you."

" _What_?" That was not his world falling out from under him, not at all. No way. Never. Only it  _was_  and he knew it as the cannon nudged Skywarp again and the clone screamed this time, trying to hide  _inside_  Thundercracker, only to be dragged off by Megatron. Thundercracker bristled and Megatron shot the ground in front of the blue clone. At least the Egomaniac had the sense to back down, even if Starscream swore his spark skipped several thrums. "I don't know how to prove it!"

"Yes, you  _do_ ," Dirge said as she sauntered over to him. The Leitandi Lord glared at the female clone. She smiled, showing a hint of the double fangs Matria were known for. "Just open them up and  _show him_."

"No." Just because  _she_  opened her chassis to the first mech that asked -it had been  _Ramjet_  of all clones- didn't mean he was like that. "I'm not a two-bit pleasure model."

Right?

Yes, of course. He as  _better_  than all of them-

... he was having an argument. In his head.  _Again_.

"I am a  _Matria_ , not a pleasure model. I wouldn't want  _you_  for my Harem anyway." The teal femme made a face and Starscream glared. Like he'd  _ever_  submit to being part of a Harem! The short megavorns with Twistwind didn't count; she'd gotten shot down in the Great War,  _and_  she'd been climbing for status. Eeechk.

Besides, he'd  _survived_  this long, so he did  _not_  need a Matria.  _Nope_.

"Do I need to summon  _the DJD_  here, Starscream?" Megatron's smirk was downright predatory. Starscream froze as memories of his time in Tarn's hands flooded his mind, along with the pain of the relentless attempts to extinguish his  _mutant_  spark.

Ordered by Megatron because the DJD had  _asked nicely_  and-

" _No_. You don't need to do that. I'll open them. Let me out." He knew that it wouldn't be for him they'd come, but  _his clones_  and he'd rather not risk them to painful deaths.  _He_  was the only one allowed to end their miserable lives  _if_  and when he wanted. That was all.  _Really_.

Maybe he could nullray Megatron in the back and flee with his clones. Back to  _Vos_  and his Leitandi sounded like a good idea. Well, there was the whole issue of not shooting his Tri - his coward clone, but he would deal with that.

"Mixmaster."

Starscream twitched as the goop was melted way - just enough for the sparkplates to move and Megatron tapped Skywarp. The coward whimpered. Starscream ground his denta in fury, but opened the sparkplates. His spark pulsed and twisted, shining the soft green of all Trined mecha. "There, see? They are  _active_  and  _bound_  to  _clones_."

Thundercracker wisely kept silent even as Skywarp was shoved at him, though Starscream didn't miss the flicker of concern. But that was simply because of the Trineprotocols that dictated they care for a Trinemate, because there was  _no_  way the Egomaniac would otherwise be concerned. He'd said so himself!

"So I see." The smile turned deadly as the cannon aimed at Thundercracker and Skywarp. "I don't need you sane to control the Seekers."

Any other time, and he'd have winced at the stupid,  _stupid_  name for his people used by outsiders because they couldn't say Leitandi correctly. Instead, Starscream's optics widened as pure terror crashed over him and for a moment, phantom agony threatened to devour him, spark pulsing erratically as the plates snapped shut in a vain, futile attempt to  _protect_  what was mostly an empathic bond. He scrambled for the edge of sanity, mind pulling up a myriad of ways Megatron could kill his clones –

He gagged down the bile, unwilling to empty his tanks.

"Megatron - I -  _Please_!" Slag slag slag, slag it all, he had  _not_  created them just to die and by the looks on their faces, they were both equally terrified. Actually, Skywarp looked like he'd sprung several oil leaks and had several sparkattacks.

"Yet I won't, as long as you  _obey_  me."

 _Anything_  to keep them  _alive_ , to keep his sanity from slipping further - "Of course, Mighty Megatron."

Megatron's smile was chilling. Starscream grit his denta then bowed his head, affirming his loyalty,  _for now_ , to the tyrant. The Decepticons might love Megatron, flock and rally to him, but he was a Sky-Lord. He was neither Autobot nor Decepticon, even if he wore the brand.

He hated Megatron, hated him so much, yet his people didn't have a chance without the Decepticons and that was a proven fact -

"Free him."

Once he was free from the cement, Starscream bowed, keeping optics locked on Megatron, though there was a tenseness in his frame that belied his fear. "My wing and I shall overse-"

"No. Your wing shall remain on Earth and assist Blitzwing and Lugnut in collecting the required metal to finish the  _Nemesis_ 's repairs."

"Of course, Megatron." Starscream straightened, hiked his wings up, motioned to his two errant clones Trinemates- then stalked out. Hopefully, the Stunticons, Astrotrain, and Tankor would arrive soon, though he  _wasn't_  looking forward to Astrotrain and Blitzwing in the same place, even with Tankor acting as grounding anchor for the triplechangers.

No matter.

Megatron might think he cared for mere clones -they  _weren't_  his Trinemates, no matter what was said - but he was just...just biding his time.

_That was all._

Megatron watched him go with an unreadable look, before gesturing to Zeta. "Take it to my chambers. I'll be along shortly."

"A wonderful idea, Mighty Megatron," Sunstorm quipped as he watched Dirge and Ramjet struggle to drag the once proud Prime. "I'm sure you have-"

"Sunstorm, help!" Dirge snapped, voice dripping in disdain. Sunstorm scrambled to obey her.

Megatron's mouth quirked as he followed them sedately. He'd always wanted to watch a Seeker Harem form. It seemed he'd get his wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying the ride. Thank you for any comments/concrit you might have, and if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them.


	8. Bargains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl makes a bargain with Lockdown and learns a truth or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter touches on several uncomfortable aspects and implies a few things about D'con culture. Please proceed with caution.

**(Of molestations and bargains.)**

Lockdown felt pretty damn pleased with himself. Things had worked out much better than he'd planned and they'd put at least four or five cycles worth of hyperspace travel time between them and Earth. Sure, he hadn't gotten any interfacing in, but his little pet was stuck with him for the foreseeable future. He'd have to find something to mark the Ninja as his, but that was easy enough. The autopilot charted route to Mumu-Obscura included a stopover at a neutral station for fuel et al, and Lockdown'd pick up some upgrades while trading there. While he was no expert, Lockdown doubted Prowl had gone past the first upgrades of an adult frame.

If he tried to train  _that_ , Sixshot would have his head, Amica or not.

After a double check they were still on course, Lockdown gathered the basic repairkit from one of his open shelves, and headed down to the only spare room.

He wasn't surprised to find Prowl in meditation. Ninja could stay like that for megacycles. This gave Lockdown time to run a discreet scan -

Bingo. The kid showed promise. A heck of a lot of it, too, and it seemed he was correct in the assumption Prowl was  _still_  on first upgrades. He wondered if the Autobots  _knew_  what they'd lost.  _Doubtful_  if Prowl'd been on some backslag team.

Eh. It didn't matter in the long run; Prowl was his.  _Forever_.

He scuffed his foot on the floor - the only advanced warning he'd give. "Let's see your leg."

"Thank you for the warning," came the mumbled gratitude.

Lockdown smirked. "You don't live long in my line of work if you do stupid things like surprising a Ninja."

"Really?"

"Saw someone learn that the  _hard_  way."

He didn't wait for permission; simply took a seat across from the Ninja and took Prowl's leg firmly but gently and pulled it closer so he could start on the repairs. Lockdown had to suppress the nasty grin as Prowl cautiously relaxed after a few tense klicks.

"If only Bumblebee would have learned that."

"They're lucky you've got some self-control. That, or you haven't meditated well in a good while." His hands were quick and gentle. He could have let Prowl do it himself, but this gave him an excuse to be closer without Prowl trying the drone act again.

"I joined a repair crew sometime after I flunked out of an Academy-sponsored Dojo. I rarely had time to meditate."

"Same 'bots that Megatron's toying with."

"Toying?"

"What, you think you were that good to stand up to Decepticons?" Lockdown let the nasty grin slip onto his face at Prowl's mute 'no'. Time to shatter whatever thoughts the kid had about his team defeating the Decepticon Leader. "Megatron is toying with them. Stop twitching. I ain't going to rip anything out."

"Oh." Prowl shifted, uncomfortable. "You appear to be quite skilled at this, Lockdown."

"'ts fundamentally reversing the process of taking a mecha apart." He smirked a little bit at the uncomfortable squirm from his Ninja. Kid would get used what he did, eventually. "Plus, when you're on your own, it can be a lifesaver. I'm guessing you've always had medics do your repairs?"

"Correct. Ratchet, or sometimes Sari and the Key."

Lockdown blinked. "Key?"

Prowl hesitated slightly before speaking. "It's little more than a trinket as far as I can tell. Of no importance."

Lockdown paused his repairs, considering what had and hadn't been said. Information like that could be instrumental in something later on. "If it were just a  _trinket_ , how would it be repairing you? I've seen files on what Megatron's been doing. Sends them out occasionally to his troops to remind them the boss is still alive and kicking."

When Prowl refused to answer, he set his tools down and took the smaller by the chin. He leaned in, EM-field backed up by a low engine rumble. "We're not going back to that planet, and I'd bet Megatron knows  _what_  it is already."

Prowl flinched. Lockdown could practically taste the fear. He grinned a bit, other hand pressing on the half-repaired knee. Prowl buckled with a hiss. "It's connected to the Allspark. Sari is the keeper of the Key and in turn, we protect her and the Allspark."

"Connected to the Allspark huh?" Lockdown turned that bit of information over in his processors a few times before shrugging. "With Megatron already there, I ain't sticking my nose in and fragging him off."

He let go and started back in the repairs.

Prowl relaxed somewhat once Lockdown was back to fixing his knee, but it didn't last long; as soon as he was done, Prowl found himself pulled onto Lockdown's lap and his wrists pinned together by a single hand while the other one rested on his thigh. Prowl squirmed, only to tense when the hand shifted slightly. "-Thank you for the knee repair."

"Someone's got to take care of you until you learn to do it yourself." Lockdown didn't move though and Prowl resigned himself sitting quietly on the hunter's lap. Lockdown would eventually let him go, they both knew that. "The outpost we're going to should have plenty of parts for a frame like yours. Parts that fit me are going to be a bit too big for your frame."

"A frame like mine?" Prowl looked at the other from the corner of his optics. "What does that mean? I am ...average... for a Ninja."

"You're small and thin and it looks like you don't have the grade of parts you  _should_. Most Ninjas have joints and servos made of sterner slag than this. Won't break or wear down as easy, keepin' ya'll quiet like you're supposed to be."

"I am plenty quiet!" Prowl bristled at the condescending chuckle, and Lockdown had to give the kid credit for remaining as still as he was.

"Never said you weren't. Just said you wouldn't have to go through as much maintenance if you had the right parts. The upgraded parts are more flexible and give you a lot more range of motion to do all of those fancy moves I've seen others do."

Prowl shivered when a seam was traced, the hand moving slowly up- "How? The Elite Guard has the best that is possible. They have to have the best. Jazz was wicked in how he moved-"

Prowl, Lockdown noted, seemed to have a bad case of hero worship going on as he talked about the things that Jazz could do. His temper flared and the wrist grip tightened, drawing a startled hiss of pain. Lockdown didn't stop though. Fingers that had been playing with a waist seam dug in, and the Autobot froze. "Jazz is good but he  _ain't_  the best. The Elite Guard is choosy, the Academy is choosy, and the Autobots are  _choosy_. Sometimes the best mechs for the job get passed up for some  _ridiculous_  reasons."

Like the fact you were Sparked naturally, and not from the Allspark, or from the lower classes. Or Matrix forbid you were a 'hybrid'.

"That's not true!" Prowl blurted, shutting up soon after.

"Sure it's not, kid. I got passed up for weapons development stuff back before the Great War even began, and now look where I am after I turned to  _other means_  of learning. Ship of my own, lucrative business with my services in high demand. What more could I want?"

"And you're a Decepticon." Prowl twisted and tugged at his wrists in a vain attempt to get free, but another finger into the seam stilled Prowl.

"So what? You have  _potential_ , but unless you're actually the slaghead's Conjunx Endura - and I know you're not - you won't get far."

"How did you-"

"Professional curiosity. Your ex-team has a file based on what we know."

"What- how-"

"Megatron wanted to know what he was toying with." For more than one reason. "Bulkhead and Bumblebee certainly got tossed quick enough when they weren't exactly what the Academy was looking for. Same with Optimus. Seems like Ratchet got himself  _demoted_ , too."

"Demoted?" Prowl's only answer was a dark chuckle and Lockdown resting his head on a shoulder as he pulled the fingers out to trace thigh seams, delighting in the uncomfortable squirms from his pet. He ignored them though; there wasn't any chance of the Autotbot getting free. The exploring hand made it up to the hip joint and dipped in to caress the wiring in the between armour plates. Prowl shuddered under him, and Lockdown bit back the groan of denial. He was going to have to stop soon.

He wasn't a monster and he certainly wouldn't take it as far as rape. He knew the difference between fighting because one didn't want it and fighting because you wanted it. Knew it intimately.

"S-stop that."

Lockdown pulled his hand out, trailing it up Prowl's abdomen, taking in the smooth curves of his armour as Prowl tried to get away. "You don't sound too convincing."

"St-stop it. Lockdown, stop."

Lockdown clamped down on his own desire, hands still, but he didn't take them away, even as he brushed lip-components against an audio. "Nothing to be scared of."

"I am  _not_  scared," Prowl hissed, tilting his helm away. Lockdown begged to differ, but he'd let Prowl have his dignity. "You said - that you'd hold off until I had a good look at what you were offering."

Prowl had guts, but it didn't stop him from looking away. Lockdown growled. "I did say that and I intend on sticking to it." He tightened his grip just to hear a whimper. With the outpost nearing, he wouldn't have time for anything, even if he wanted it. "But  _how_  do I know  _you_  won't go back on your end of the bargain, hm?"

"I won't." Prowl twisted to look at the other, optics widening when Lockdown allowed it and he found himself sitting back on the berth, wrists still in the tight grasp. He floundered with his words. "I am by no means unaware of what interfacing is and what it entails, but..."

"Never 'faced before?" Lockdown grinned at Prowl's uncomfortable fidgeting. Oh yea. He knew well what the Autobot's called Interfacing and what they thought of it. "I'm not surprised. Haven't you ever sparked yourself before?"

"What? No-" Prowl shook his head so hard Lockdown thought it'd come off.

"That's better than nothing. Much more fun with a partner, though."

Lockdown chuckled at the spluttering, optics bright, alive in ways he hadn't felt outside the hunt for long megavorn. Prowl's glare said he'd hit a nerve, and he let the kid continue. "However... P-Perhaps we could compromise to start with first..?"

"I could go for a compromise." Lockdown suppressed the victory smirk; there was only one thing Prowl had to offer. Lockdown could take it by force and negate his efforts so far, or he could play nice. He released the other's wrists and gave Prowl some room. "What do you have in mind?"

"I-I-" Prowl reset his voice several times, door wings hiking up as his field pulsed fear. "I am willing to work at being able to handle more of t-that without starting to squirm away. All I ask is that when I do start to squirm, you back off, please. "

Lockdown nodded slowly, noting how Prowl seemed to relax. "All right, that's fair. What incentive do I have for letting you go?"

"You'd have the first payment sooner than later."

"Mmm...I can be patient. So, that's off the table." He looked around the room, quite obviously taking inventory of what Prowl before turning back to Prowl. The Ninja backed up, vents rattling at the look Lockdown gave him. Lockdown didn't need scanners to know his pet was worried. "I prefer a material thing to ensure my behaviour. That holo-projector of yours would make a nice incentive."

"... Very well." Prowl opened a panel on his chassis and pulled it out. Lockdown blinked as he took it, subbing it until he could lock it away safely; didn't need Prowl reclaiming it now. That was easy.

"You've bought my cooperation for now." He smiled playfully then stood with a stretch.

Prowl practically collapsed with relief.

Lockdown rolled his optics before heading back towards the bridge. "You've several breems before we dock. Get yourself calm and fuelled, or you stay here."

"What's the station's name?"

"The  _Guided Light_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any comments/concrit you might have, and if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them.


	9. Trades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lockdown stops to make some trades with Swindle, and Vortex has a bit of 'fun' at Prowl's expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a fair bit of implied culture and worldbuilding, including the view of Neutrality/Impartially amongst Transformers. It'd be a lot easier if everyone didn't have inbuilt weaponry. So the view of Neutral is very different to ours. But hey, we're dealing with aliens so...

**(Of trades and sinking realisations)**

The  _Guided Light_  sat in low orbit around a gas giant's icy moon about a hundred or so light years away from Earth, and several thousand from Cybertron. It was a rough estimate and it was on the edge of Autobot-Decepticon space. Owned by the Combaticons, it claimed to be Neutral and they  _did_  respect the Laws around that. They  _had_  too; one didn't fuck with Neutrality and expect to  _remain_  alive for very long. The station also served as a trading post for almost everything, legal or not. One simply had to know where to find it though.

"Impressive," Prowl murmured as it came into view.

"The Combaticons don't mess around with what they own," Lockdown said.

"Combaticons?"  _Something_  about the name niggled in the back of Prowl's processor, but he dismissed it. Processor ghosts from the megacycle he'd so far had; nothing important.

"One of our gestalts."

Prowl baulked, knowing well what Lockdown meant. "Yet the station reads as Neutral…?"

Lockdown snorted, 'field flashing amusement. "How much do you know about The Laws?"

"Not much," Prowl admitted hesitantly, and Lockdown sighed. Slaggit, was he going to have to teach the kid everything?

"See those guns and how it's armed?" When Prowl nodded, he continued. "It's capable of defending itself and its patrons against attack. It's owned by us, but it's  _legally_  registered as Neutral."

"What about faction fights?" Prowl asked with a frown.

"Swindle's got two Neutrals employed to handle all aspects of station security. Don't  _ever_  frag off a Neutral, kid."

"I have no plans to such a thing," Prowl said cautiously.

"Good to hear," Lockdown said with an approving nod. "If those at this station don't slag you, then you go missing, regardless of any faction."

"I see..."

"Those that go missing tend to turn up  _in pieces_  as a 'warning'."

Prowl blanched, and Lockdown smirked but didn't say any more on the subject. He didn't think Prowl needed to know that the local rumour mill said Swindle had something big over both Star Sabre and Tigerhawk's heads to make them play along. If you asked Lockdown, he really didn't care as to what was truth, as long as the station  _stayed_  Neutral. "It's also really rare for a 'Con to go Neutral."

Because it was  _easier_  to get reassigned to the Core Worlds, than deal with the reams and reams  _and reams_  of paperwork and assessments that came with swapping to Neutral. Few, if any Decepticons, officially went Neutral. Unofficially… Lockdown personally knew ten. All probably  _dead_  by now.

"I see."

Lockdown knew his prize didn't, but he allowed Prowl to think he did.

As they came in for docking, Lockdown grinned to himself when he noticed a few bigger ships. Nothing too big, given how much the Autobots liked targeting anything bigger than two or three of his ships, but it was telling enough; the bigger ships were cloaked in orbit safely within the Neutral Zone. There was maybe two ships he knew belonged to the Autobots. The rest, he wasn't sure.

A glance back at Prowl and Lockdown smirked. "Looks like it's mostly Decepticons this cycle, kid."

Mostly didn't mean all, and Prowl knew that. "I see."

"Good thing I painted your symbol out."

Prowl deadpanned. "The station is  _Neutral_."

"And? The place we're going to on said station will likely contain mostly  _Decepticons_  right now," Lockdown pointedly reminded him he swapped the hand out for his hook, EM-field bleeding amusement at Prowl's confusion. "We can strip the paint if you'd rather."

"No, thank you," Prowl said, EM-field pulled in close as he stared at the hook. "That's a mod?"

"Wasn't sparked with it, Prowl." As amusing as the thought was.

Well now Prowl felt dumb. "Oh."

Lockdown grunted, turning back to the controls, bringing them in for a smooth docking. Prowl'd still stand out because of the signal though, and Lockdown wasn't going to change  _that_  anytime soon. Once they'd docked, he stood. "Well, you ready kid?"

He keyed the door open once Prowl nodded. "Word of advice. Don't let them bait you, 'cause I'm pretty sure they'll try, station rules or no."

Lockdown didn't wait for a response. He headed out with a smirk firmly on his face, and the only Decepticons about seemed more interested in flirting, or resupplying, than in the new arrivals. He spoke with one of the mechs on duty briefly, handing over a list of what he needed. Fuel, energon, parts. Standard things the station carried that a ship might need, and it'd be done within a cycle. The mech waved them passed the doors that lead into the main corridors of the station itself.

They passed another pair, half in shadows and illuminated by sparklight, the larger shoved up against the wall while the smaller did obscene things to them. Judging from the signals, the smaller was a 'Bot, the larger a 'Con. Everything else, from hashtags to Unittags was  _blank_.

Sign-Forged lovers; this was probably one of the few places they  _could_  meet. Lockdown honestly hoped things worked out for them. They  _needed_  more happy endings.

"Wh-"

Lockdown chuckled at Prowl's aghast look and the Ninja's 'field wasn't much better. He'd forgotten how prudish Autobots were.

"That – the- what?"

"Hmm?"

Prowl seemingly found his voice after a few more twists and turns that took them past doors or halls that led to the main open areas. "What was  _that_?"

"Just some mechs getting a quick 'face."

Prowl looked affronted. "In public. With their sp-"

Lockdown blinked, nonplussed about that. "Your point?"

"I- You-" Prowl sputtered.

"Interfacing's a part of life, just like everything else," he said, even as he kept Prowl in his peripheral vision. He didn't want Prowl bolting like a spooked youngling as they approached the section he was looking for.

 _Best trades in the galaxy_ , the sign read. Under it was scrawled  _best energon too :)_

The wall bore what looked like several dents where a mech had been thrown, and that wasn't counting the energon stains and scuff marks.

Prowl came to a halt. "That looks like it had to hurt."

On second glance, Lockdown snickered to himself. He didn't pity whoever'd made them. It wasn't his kink, but he knew mecha into it. "Probably  _what_  they were going for."

"What- Lockdown-" Prowl spluttered again, EM-field rife with confusion.

"Keep up." Lockdown shrugged and tapped open the door. The door hissed open and Lockdown headed into the mostly Decepticon filled bar with a confident stride, ignoring the mechs as they chatted away, conversation indistinct yet it was a decent bet they were talking in Traders' Neo-Cybex. He didn't bother to shield his prize-pet from the curious looks, or the hate-filled stares from some of the discretely collared slaves.

The station claimed to be Neutral after all. One  _couldn't_  have overt slaves; the slaves here were likely permanents. Pets or toys, it was hard to tell, and Lockdown didn't care at the end of the day as long as an Autobot knew its place.

He thought he spotted Leozack, Violen Jiger, Hellbat, and some others at a table, conversation distinctly Kayuun, Leozack gesturing wildly about something while Hellbat rolled his optics. If Leozack were here, then the  _Victory_  was cloaked in orbit. At another table sat a dozen Seekers, with a red-green-yellow and a  _very_  bright yellow-gold glaring at everyone; Lockdown wisely sidestepped that table. No need to be seen as a threat to either Matria or her mechs.

The bartenders, Neutrals or Decepticon-sympathisers he wasn't sure which, nodded greetings that Lockdown returned with a jaunty salute of his hook. "Yo. How's the megacycle?"

"Nothing broke yet," the red and white chuckled and nodded to Prowl, who was looking slightly confused, but Lockdown dismissed it as inconsequential. "Defector?"

"Nah," Lockdown said, knowing the response would garner about ten different ideas between everyone. "Let's hope it  _stays_  that way; I heard the bills cost you an arm  _and_  a leg. They in?"

"Yea," the bartender pointed towards the back, past other tables, and Lockdown reset his optics a few times.

One of the tables had an almost impossible to spot orns-old sparkling hidden amongst the adults; Support, all of them, and the hashtags on the adults signalled the ship's name was the  _Tyrant_.

Lockdown shrugged and moved on. You took a kid that young  _everywhere_. Best way to raise'em in fact.

It wasn't hard to miss the distinctive shape of several Combaticons at the back of the place, though he had to bite back the grin as he approached. Swindle was half on half off Onslaught's lap, who was looking over a data-report as if having his Endura half on him was nothing new.

Knowing them, it probably  _wasn't_.

Vortex and Brawl reclined against the wall; from where they were, they had a good view of everything and they flanked their teammates. That left Blast Off, and Lockdown would put his credits on the shuttleformer pulling security duties up in the control room. Even with a force of security drones alongside the normal paid forces, they  _still_  needed intelligent optics on the feeds.

As he approached them, Swindle tactfully slid off Onslaught's lap, a wide grin on his face. "Fancy seeing you here."

"How are you fine mechs doing this megacycle?" Lockdown stood across the table from the others. "I have some specific requests this time around, Swindle. Think you can handle it?"

"Depends if you can handle my price." The arms-dealer steepled his fingers, smile honest, friendly. His optics narrowed as he took in Prowl, smirking when the Autobot took a step back.

"I can  _always_  handle your price, Swindle."

"Who's your friend Lockdown?" Vortex leaned forward slightly, visor lighting up with eager anticipation. Needles sprung from his fingers, and Lockdown really didn't blame the Autobot for the flinch. "He looks like  _fun_. Lemme play with him."

Lockdown's optics flicked to Brawl and Vortex. "A new acquisition. None of your concern."

"What is it you want and how much are you willing to pay?" Swindle's optics lingered on Prowl for a few more kliks as recognition set in, before they flickered back to Lockdown.

"Got a good bit of Seeker parts, some interesting little toys from a research lab too, and some duplicate mods you might be interested in." He put his hand on the table and leaned forward, ignoring Prowl for the moment. "Need my usual along with a couple sets of joints and parts for a Ninja build."

"Goods?" Swindle wasn't starting anything until he'd seen what was on offer, and Lockdown happily complied. He pulled several nullrays, wing joints, and thruster parts out of subspace and dumped them on the table with a spread of his hand.

"I have to say, I  _am_  impressed." Swindle picked up the nullray, inspected it, then unsubbed some Ninja parts and dumped them on the table. "I'll give you these for them…"

"Ninja, huh? I  _like_  Ninjas. Their chassis bend so  _easy_." Vortex muttered, just loud enough for Prowl to hear him. He could pay attention to Lockdown and Swindle, but that wasn't interesting, and he'd find out the details later anyway.

What was interesting was the Ninja. It – his – EM-field pulled in tight despite the calm exterior, and it still hadn't said a word. The rotary couldn't see any scars that indicated a vocaliser being removed, but with Lockdown one never knew.

Vortex shifted closer when Prowl's focus shifted to the table as parts started to pile up or subtract. "I don't like being  _ignored_ , you know. It's  _rude_  not to talk when someone's trying to engage you in  _conversation_."

Again Prowl ignored him, although Vortex saw the tiny flinches and the shifts that gave away unease or fear. Good, at least the thing understood him. Pity his 'field was clamped down; without it, there was no true way of knowing what was going on in his processor. Oh well. He'd worked with less.

"Like those, huh?" Vortex said when the Ninja shifted closer to the table, optics locked on the silver shurikens.

"Gotta wonder why Lockdown's outfitting a little piece of scrap like you." The Autobot was an adult, yet- "You don't even have your first upgrades and he's putting you in these?" Vortex shifted back a little bit, a thoughtful look creeping into his optics before morphing into a smirk at the twitch from Prowl. The rotary gave his frame a very obvious once over, delighting in the subtle squirms and twitches and the way the thing shifted closer to Lockdown, as if its master would help it. "Ain't much to you at all, so it can't be  _that_."

 _/Any ideas?/_  He commed his team via gestaltlink, leaning back as he watched the proceedings with interest. Huh.  _That_  was new...

 _/I do have several.../_  Onslaught replied via the same.  _/I believe Swindle has a fairly good idea of_ who _the new mech is./_

 _/I saw that too. Who, but not what./_  Because this Autiobot  _was_  a what, not a who and Vortex was positive of that.  _/Do you think it could be-/_

_/No. If he was, then he wouldn't be here./_

_/Think it's related to the mudball?/_  Brawl added, and Vortex shrugged. He had no idea, but distracting Swindle in the  _middle_  of a deal was a testament to just how interesting the situation was. Needles clinked against his arm in thought.

 _/It is possible, though unlikely./_  Onslaught mused, and Vortex could just about feel his brother's processor ticking over the data. Oh goodie. That meant the aftermath of the next merge was going to be hilarious when Brawl started sprouting tactics, or Blast Off tried to out-swindle the swindler, to name a few.

Several annoyed EM-fields were directed his way, and the interrogator had the decency to duck his head, even if he couldn't hide the smirk in his own 'field. He handled the good mood as he half-prowled behind their guests. He knew Lockdown and Onslaught had a sensor on him. Just because the station was legally Neutral didn't mean he was barred from scaring the daylights out of a mecha.  _/We both know Lockdown wouldn't drag an Autobot he'd caught off his ship for nothing, acquisition or not./_

"Is he  _really_  mute, Lockdown?" He muttered, rotors twitching. "What kind of  _acquisition_?"

"Could be. An acquisition of  _no_  importance." Lockdown said as he snatched one of the nullrays back. Swindle scowled, Onslaught's engine rumbled, and Lockdown smirked. "That's worth two, Swindle,  _not_  three."

"Fine..." The arms-dealer growled. "What else you got? That thing up for a hack?"

"Few Autobot processors from a lab they cleared out of hastily. Think they might have been trying to make flight-capable mechs." Lockdown pinned Swindle with a look. "'Fraid not Swindle. Kid's too young to know anything we don't know."

Prowl's relief did not go unnoticed. Vortex openly pouted, complete with (rather creepy) Sad Helio Noises, and Prowl was suddenly ten times stiffer than he'd been before.

Amusement radiated from Vortex's EM-field, and he almost lost it at the glare the Autobot sent him.

 _/A Ninja trophy of some sort. Young, if he's keeping it and not offering it for a hack./_  Onslaught said at last.

"Pity. – Wait, are you  _seriously_  saying Autobots are -?" Swindle's eyes lit up, and even over the gestaltlink, Vortex could  _feel_  Swindle's excitement. It was almost infectious, doubly so when Lockdown nodded. Swindle practically tripped over his words in excitement. "I need to know who the once-neutral is with them."

"Starscream'll bust a gasket or ten," Brawl muttered. "If they haven't offed themselves."

 _/He's almost gotta be,/_  Vortex agreed as he snorted, one audio on the conversation around them. "Like  _that'll_  happen. 'Bot's  _don't_  fly and Neutral fliers  _don't_  join 'Bots."

"Speed's part of the Commonwealth?" Swindle asked while he joined the gestalt-chat briefly.  _/I've seen frames like that before, and_ there's _only a few options for mechs that small./_

"They stay on Speed and are marked with the Insignia." It was common knowledge.  _/Indeed, though Thunderblast would disagree./_

 _/Yea,_ violently _./_

 _/Continue if you_ wish, _Vortex. The reactions are interesting./_  Onslaught picked up his datapad, for intents and purposes no longer paying much attention to the antics around him.

Vortex shifted forward again, a wicked grin forming behind his battle mask. "What's so  _interesting_  about you, hm? You've gotten everyone all up in arms. Makes me itch to  _dig into_  that little processor of yours and see what makes you tick."

And there was the flash of  _fear_  from an otherwise hidden EM-field. "I've got the tools to do it right  _here_." His needles glinted threateningly in the light, and Prowl took a step back, EM-field flashing emotion again, and Vortex practically grinned. "You want to tell me  _yourself_  or am I gonna  _inject_  you?"

Lockdown's hook whipped out around the Autobot's waist before it could take another few steps back. It jumped and Vortex didn't even bother hiding the nasty giggle. "Such a  _jumpy thing_  you got there."

Lockdown's only response was an equally nasty grin as his hand swept his newly acquired things into subspace. Vortex flicked his rotors in agitation and sheathed the injectors; playtime was over.  _Pity_.

"Pleasure doing business with you. If you find interesting mods, give me a call."

"If you can pay the price." Swindle was all too happily turning over one of the processors, and everyone could  _see_  the credit signs in his eyes.

"Always. Though you might wanna keep your  _addict_  on a tighter leash."

"Awww..." Somehow, Vortex emoted another pout. He wasn't an addict, like some he could name. "That wasn't very nice..."

"I don't need him jumping at shadows," Lockdown growled. "Makes him harder to handle, if you get my  _meaning_."

"Yesh. Fine." Vortex lifted his hands in mock surrender, but it appeared to appease the bounty hunter. More to the point, it appeased Onslaught, and the Commander's 'field settled. It settled fully once Vortex was back in place against the wall.

He watched Lockdown and his pet leave. They had to duck around the brewing fight at Leozack and Hellbat's table. Or, on-going fight, given the first punch had been thrown, and Vortex wasn't surprised when Onslaught growled, slammed the datapad down hard enough to dent it, and moved to deal with them; the slaggers had it coming. It was the third time this cycle and Onslaught  _had_  warned them they wouldn't be dealing with Brawl the next time.

He trailed after his commander. It was entertainment, and it'd kill time before he had to switch with Blast Off for monitor duty. They got to send the bill to Deathsaurus too, so  _that_  was a plus.

* * *

Once they were back on the ship, Prowl whirled on Lockdown, optics narrowed and field pulsing. "What the frag?"

"What?" Lockdown hit the button to lock the door.

"That, in  _there_. You said they  _might_  needle for a reaction, not  _threaten_ -" It was why he'd stayed silent, shut off his vocaliser. So he wouldn't give them fodder, never mind he'd had something of a harder time understanding them in general.

Lockdown stared at him, and Prowl didn't need Lockdown's 'field to know the other was distinctly unimpressed with him. "We're Decepticons, kid."

"That – I- I'm not going off ship at the next port." Prowl stood his ground; he still had his weapons. He had… a chance,  _maybe_.

"Suit yourself. You want the upgrades or not?" Lockdown shrugged, swapping out the hook for his hand, and Prowl got the distinct feeling Lockdown did not care one wit about what Prowl was saying.

"I – yes?"

"Up on the table then. The sooner they get installed, the faster you adjust," Lockdown motioned to one of his work tables, and Prowl shifted, uneasy and unwilling. He  _knew_  what Lockdown used them for. The bounty hunter laughed. "I ain't gonna tie you down kid, and I  _do_  know how to install things  _without_  it hurting. Your choice."

"I-" Prowl wanted those upgrades. He really,  _really_  did, but right now, he was scared. Whoever that rotary had been hadn't left a pleasant impression. Swindle had been there too. Prowl wasn't sure how much of a grudge the car? held either and he was too shaken to mention it to Lockdown. For all he knew, Lockdown'd change his mind on the hack thing. Was Swindle even a car, as he seemed bigger than the last time they'd met. "I'd rather meditate until take-off, if you don't mind."

"We'd got half a cycle left," Lockdown said by way of permission.

Prowl didn't stick around for the other to change his mind, and made a beeline to his room.

Lockdown meanwhile amused himself by logging into  _The Big Conversation._

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly appreciate all types of feedback, so thoughts comments etc are always welcome. If you see something you don't understand, point it out. I'll do my best to clarify.


	10. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evac ship is attacked; a little of Megatron’s past is revealed; Zeta would *really* like to die now;  a young mech is confused; and a spy gets to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few parts are supposed to be confusing, but they are laden with plot that ties into later chapters. Also worldbuilding. Because that's always fun.
> 
> There is non-graphic non-detailed spark-rape in this chapter. If that squicks, I tried to make it as easy to avoid as possible. I honestly wouldn't show it if it wasn't important for mindsets, and later on.
> 
> This chapter takes place roughly at the same time as the last chapter.

**(Of nightmares made real, and nightmares of the past.)**

Her sister bounced her and the sparkling giggled, tiny claws waving. "More more!"

"One more," the yellow-and-green tank nodded, doing it once more before settling her down on the berth. The sparkling pouted and reached for both her sister and the exhausted slave with them, but the older tapped her nasal plates. "Nuh uh. You need to recharge. We'll be at New Kaon soon and then you can run him ragged all over again."

"Play-play?" she chirped excitedly.

Her sister nodded. "When we get there. Recharge. I'll watch over you, and Dino will too."

A blob appeared in her field of vision. She pouted. It drew back to show a white-and-blue frame like her carrier, with mismatched optics like hers. The sparkling gurgled, reaching for him with light-grey hands. He was one of the warriors protecting them because her sister said Sire said so. "'row?"

"I don't mind." He spoke with a funny accent; it wasn't Lucifer or New Kaon.

She squealed happily, snuggling up to the offered pillow-thigh.

She was fast asleep within the breem.

-/-

She woke to fire and bullets, screams and flashes of Outlier-talents, some controlled, some  _not_. She woke to smoke, to energon tricking down her frame as the white-and-blue adult – Dino? – carried her through the slaughter. She could  _feel_  his weapons firing and that scared her, but it also reassured her because he was safety and –

Mismatched optics looked up-

The dangling red optic  _seared_  across her cortex alongside the energon splatter-

Another explosion, more shouts. More gunfire as Cadets or younglings panicked even as they were herded down to the lifepods. Sire's slave was behind them and she giggled happily because she  _liked_  the slave. He was funny and warm and familiar -

Something hit her in the lower leg.

She  _screamed_. Loud and clear, wanting to  _make_  the fear and pain and fighting and everything ever  _stop_ , and somewhere in her mind, she felt another and she latched onto them and they latched onto another and another. Around her, multiple things happened. Warriors barked orders aloud and over the comms, her sister stopped fighting the slave that was dragging her away from things. The adults grabbed any younglings and sparklings they could. The slave-collars refused to shock anymore.

 _They ran_. Through hellfire and brimstone they  _ran_  for the shuttles. Behind them, the Mad Decepticon and Madness. Behind them,  _death_  and those too slow to escape as bulkheads slammed down in an effort to minimize the damage. She  _didn't_  care.

She kept screaming until they were in a shuttle, ejecting from the imploding Death-Ship. How she knew this, she didn't know. She only knew she  _had_  to protect everyone. They had to protect  _everyone_  and she could hear them Singing in her mind. Her agemates, her cohort.

She was them and they were her and together they were something  _bigger_  than big and they could  _do_  this and keep everyone  _alive_  and  _safe_ -

Her screaming stopped as white hot fire lashed across her mind.

Pain exploded across their link and she  _shrieked_  now because several of them had  _died_  and it hurt and her mind was on fire fire  _fire_ -

The shuttle shuddered. Something had hit it they didn't have shields and she didn't know how she knew this but she  _did_ -

Her fire-wreathed mind stretched out as it took command like a strange virus that twisted about within her spark, begging her to  _use_  it–

She forced her way into as many controls as she could, just like the others were doing.

Something amplified and linked them. She didn't know how she didn't care.

_Hide hide hide hide hide us hide us_ _**hide us** _ _-_

She hid everyone she could. Some she couldn't save because they couldn't  _reach_  those controls.

They  _died_. They imploded as the Mad Decepticon and his allies hunted down every lifepod not hidden by those too young to understand what they'd done; what they  _were_.

It wasn't an attack. It was an ambush. A slaughter and a massacre.

_Why why why why-_

Mean and horrible faces flashed through their minds, seared into it as sure as a supernova. They were  _evil_  and they were not good and they bore red and purple marks and they were  _traitors_  and she was scared because they might find them and then they'd-

She didn't stop crying for almost a cycle, optics white-bright as her spark  _burned_  within her. By the time she'd fully settled, she was in her sister's arms, the slave watching over them.

Her mind was elsewhere, caught within a web she wasn't sure she  _wanted_  to leave.

 _we are_ safe _hidden a mystery_

_they don't know_

_can't know_

_they'd fear us_

_we will not be experiments_

_we are one and we are many_

_swarm guards own_

_not swarm hive?_

_Maybe unsure too soon_

_yes mine mine mine, mine_

_Nii-san wasn't here ..._

_Safe, safe. Feel kin-bonds yes, yes_

_Oh nii-san-!_  Joy/happiness/love flooded the connection.

_how many..._

_... too few who_ is _left_

_I'm ... she said._

_Name's..._

_Sharpshot_

_Call me..._

_I'm ..._

_Shrapnel, Sharpnel_

_Bombshell_

_I'm Ly..._

_I'm Kickback_

_we failed, failed?_

_no_

_set the beacons –_

Beacons set, she fell away from the warmth, away from what she wouldn't remember as more than impressions, if at all. She was too young -  _they all were_.

* * *

This is what it's like to find the one he'll do  _anything_  to Protect. It is joy and happiness, his Spark leaping and flipping and Singing with  _Purpose_. It's sadness and despair and fervent prayers he never  _ever_  loses them.

This is what it's like when he sees them and his Spark leaps but then he sees the symbol on their chest and he stops. He stops because he wants to scream and cry, rage and curse his creator-god and scream at how  _unfair_  it is.

He is a Warbuild. A  _Destron_  in all but badge, they say. Kaon is home, the only home he's ever known. It's safety and warmth and pain and learning how to defend himself and rely on those he trusts, but not too much because if someone betrays the group –Unit-, then that's the  _worst thing ever_  and it rankles until he finds the traitor and makes them pay.

This is what it's like to have blood on his hands. Hot and sticky and horrifying. It's sticky sticky sticky; it smells and he knows he shouldn't lick it, but he does anyway and it tastes disgusting.

He did not know energon could taste like that. He purges soon after, in a back alley, surrounded by his Unit, all of them so very worried worried  _worried_ , and he hates making them worried, because  _he's_  the commander and he Has to Protect  _them_.

He – the one you were Sparked to Protect - is a Cybertron – Autobot? Maybe. It doesn't matter, the Government will  _always_  oppress his people, and they'll never let him have a voice because they have decided they don't need-. He's white-and-navy with trailer-wings hanging from his shoulders. He's pretty and appealing and the icy-azure optics are so so so  _innocent_. He needs Protection because his spark Sings a Song like no other.

He's a 'guard, part of a squad.

They end up friends, somehow, someway.

/-/

"It's not right – they shouldn't be doing this-" He said, waving the datapad in front of his friend's face.

"What – They  _passed_  it?" Red optics widened in horror.

"Three cycles ago. It's been all over the news-nets," he said, dropping down into the seat beside the miner and sometimes gladiator, trailer-wings sprawling either side of him, unassumingly regal. "Riots have already started and they're sending in troops to pacify the whole city."

"Then you need to  _go_. I will not see you caught in  _this_ -"

"No. If I leave my squad'll be pulled into-" He looked away, hands fisting helplessly, 'field flush with worry and fear. "And he's here. I can hear It singing to me, Megs."

Megatron burst into broken laughter. "They'll never give it to you. You're not one of their precious False-Primes in line for the Hammer."

"Not the Hammer." His companion shook his head. "I told you this before."

"I thought you meant-" Megatron blinked, confusion written over face and 'field.

"What's inside. You know-"

Optics widened. "It  _wasn't_  lost when -?"

"Not if I can hear it Singing to me." A white hand covered his own, face smiling despite the faceplate. "We can  _keep_  you safe, and I can work up the ranks, and you have your Lord of the Skies-"

"Our Lord of the Skies. Windsheer hasn't named him her Heir, yet. He's still so young..."

"It'll happen. We've met him. He's the next Lord of the Skies. Primus Below, I'm surprised she  _isn't_  insane yet, but the Guard's around…"

Megatron snorted. "You assume Ultra Magnus is a Guard, and you're assuming I'm even part of this."

"You are- And we're going to march and take back what is  _ours_ -"

-/-

This is what it's like to lose the one he  _needs-wants-loves_ : Pain and fear and  _hatred_  and pain and  _panic_  as his systems scream as though through a battle-haze. He should not have been here, he should not have shown himself so openly.

He fell. They attacked from behind and front and by the time he got to him his Spark was guttering out and the newest Lord of the Skies was trying to get free from an Enforcer – A False-Prime who had a two others like them around, and they had  _no right to touch what was his_  and if they killed him too–

Rust-red is the colour of rage and hate. Pink is the colour of energon, of life leaving a body. Pale-grey-blue is the colour internals now externals. White-blue-white is the colour of Spark-deep violation as his Spark and Code shriek in denial as unending pain and jagged edges cascade his mind.

His Spark  ** _hurts_**.

By the time he came to grips, he'd damaged the False-Primes, claws almost  _stained_  with body-fluids and the Lord of the Skies was hiding behind him, cowering in his shadow and Megatron smiled. He still sees the last Enforcer's face. Beaten broken bloody.  _Terrified_.

Of him. Of his  _power_.

He  _wants_  to say he's  _sorry_ , that he didn't mean it, that he won't do it again.

But he can't and by the time he manages to splutter something out, the survivor's turned on him. He's not down but he will be if he doesn't fight, and it hurts in a way that feels good and then there's a scream and he has a spark in his hands and –

It splutters and gutters in a lightshow-

He finds himself trying to run away and then  _his_  face is there, staring, accusing him as his Sky-Lord turns their back on him for what he doesn't know, how  _can_  he know when his Sky-Lord will not speak to him, and the Guard – the wretched cretin that pretends to be a Guard because he's not – is there and disapproving and then they choose Another and it's a False-Prime-

He screamed; battle systems whirled to life-

Fired.

Megatron's aim thankfully wasn't true, though Zeta's shriek of fear/terror  _was_.

It pleased him, even as he swung out of the berth and stalked towards him, false battle-haze lingering alongside the memory-nightmare. Past and present intermingled and he  _didn't_  want to distinguish between them. Not when  _his_  face was so fresh in his memory, the smiles and the kindness and the  _dream_  of a better Cybertron, the dream of a  _better_  Empire –

 _Ruined_  because of trigger happy False-Primes.

He had a False-Prime within reach, its chains taut. He heard the pathetic clicking of long ago offlined weapons systems. " _Come here_ , Zeta."

Zeta's struggles were ignored as Megatron dragged him closer. It wasn't energon-lust on his processor. Perhaps it would have been better, perhaps not. Megatron  _didn't_  care, didn't  _want_  to care. He wanted to  _hurt_  the Autobot as he'd been hurt, and the best way to do that was to commit Taboo by Autobot minds.

Zeta screamed as his sparkplates were forced open, revealing the strange object welded to his sparkchamber. It was not the first time and it would not be the last, and how he wished Megatron would  _kill_  him already. Megatron smiled, vicious and cruel, angry and hate-filled.

"This is for-" The name was lost to Zeta's shrieking as the Decepticon Warlord violated him, unyielding, unrelenting and unflinching. The False-Prime, like all of them,  _deserved_  it. He'd give to them the same level of violations inflicted by them. Make them feel the same level of  _pain_  he felt.

They were  _not_  his people, not Cybertron. He would  _never_  Protect Autobots.

Megatron mourned, in his own twisted way, for what he'd failed to Protect, not once, but twice. Above all, he ignored what his Spark told him.

 _Hope was a lie_ , and his own Spark  _deceived_  him.

* * *

Elsewhere, almost on the other side of the galaxy, a young mech woke with a shout, battle protocols onlining, always and forever insisting he had trailer-wings that were guns. "GAH-"

Pain played at the edge of his Spark and the impression of his internals becoming externals  _wasn't_  a new one. It was still unpleasant to online too and he hated it. Hated when he dreamed of that fragmented dream. "What-"

But that dream - He didn't even understand it, no matter how many times it happened.

"Are you alright?"

And the team medic was in his face and he almost shoved her away, but she wasn't quite in reach. He pouted. "Y-Yes. Bad defragment cycle."

"You should let me scan that," she said, pinning him with a look.

"'m fine-"

"Red's right. Ya should let 'er scan," the red mech said with a low-Kaon drawl.

"Fine, if it'll get you two off my aft.  _Don't_  tell Kup." He held his hands up, even as Red came in, scanning him. Somehow, it always felt like she was running  _two_  scans at once. Impossible.

_Right?_

"Find anything?"

"For a prodigy, your battlesystems seem out of line yet  _again_ ; otherwise, you're fine," Red said as she shut the scan off. "Perhaps  _that's_  what's causing these bad defrag cycles."

"Yea..." He looked down, rubbing his chest. "You're right. It'd probably settle if I got to see action. Or those upgrades."

"Perhaps our next assignment," Red said gently.

Arms crossed over dull red-and-orange. "You said that  _last_  time."

"Ah don't wanna have ya'll standing out even more than ya do, Minor. Kup'll agree."

"Fuel up. Your guard shift's soon." The medic gave him a  _Look_  that ended the topic, and somehow he felt outmaneuvered by the very 'Bots he was supposedly commanding. "Just be thankful they haven't targeted this one yet."

"You're right." He nodded and headed out, missing the look shared between Red and the other mech. They had to do something about those dreams. The last Minor or Prime with those upgrades had been deactivated rather...  _brutally_.

* * *

_"Perhaps you missed something."_

"Ah come on! I'm tellin' ya there ain't no way I missed something. She's gone. G-o-n-e."

_"You did, rodent."_

"Oi. No. No way. Do you know how hard it is to sneak around Fort Max when Magnus has this thing locked down thirteen levels tighter than the  _Axalon_  or  _Code of a Hero_  on a bad day? You  _are_  taking care of m'ship, right, chopperface?"

 _"One would believe you have a deathwish, rodent. But yes, your rat's nest of a ship is regrettably still docked within_ Code of a Hero _."_

Rattletrap grinned. "Yea yea. What you gonna do about it, sweetspark? Can't touch dis through a screen."

And as far he knew, the warship was still in cloaked orbit over New Kaon. He also knew personally the commander wouldn't risk the Doomsday-class without direct orders. It was why they'd hauled all Thanatos-class into Evac-duty. Slagging Autobots and slagging 'policing' them. They'd promised to remain in exile but noooooooo. Autobots had to enforce that exile and  _breed_  hatred and distrust and act against them for crimes long in the past.

Slag sucking fraggers.

The General on screen smirked.  _"Is that so? Perhaps, then, when we are..._ face-to-face. _"_

Rattletrap placed a hand over his spark, mock swooning as if he were still a youngling. "Ohh. You gonna show me my place, handsome?"

On his back, sparkplates open, the other above him as they rutted and fragged each other senseless – Rattletrap cut his imagination, and the General's smirk remained in place, if not toothier.  _"Perhaps."_

"My place or yours?" Rattletrap gave an easy grin and held his hands up in mock surrender at the growl - clearly, the answer was his CO's place - before turning serious. Now was  _not_  the time and he knew that. "All flirting aside, sir, Arcee is  _gone_. It's like she just woke up and vanished, and I know  _what_  the Autobot techheads said. Her fragging CPU was scrambled."

_"Unless... Go over the footage from the last orn or so."_

"You think Special Ops?"

The General's grin was toothy.

"Oi, do you how many cycles I'll be spending making sweet, sweet love to the footage? I ain't a fragging Support mech."

_"You are Special Operations, saboteur."_

Rattletrap huffed. That didn't mean he was Support-class fraggit. "Fine, whatever. You  _owe_  me a full darkcycle at  _the_  topless bar in New Kaon, chopperface."

_"We shall see."_

"Yea yea." Rattletrap sighed raised his hands in true defeat at the Look he got. "I'll let you know what I find, Sir."

_"See that you do."_

Rattletrap made a face after the connection was cut. "Yesh you'd think getting bumped up to General would improve his humour. Eh, at least he's stopped quotin' that Nebulon playwright what's-its-face."

Even so, a crack of knuckles later, he was hacking his way into the security feeds of Arcee's medical room. Time to find out  _how_  one so-called processor dead femme could just  _vanish_  into thin air. He'd have asked Shockwave for help, but the spy's position was tenuous at best now; at least the breakout from the Stockades a megacycle and a half ago had eased some of the pressure.

Eh. He couldn't find it in his spark to pity whoever Wasp had been gunning for when he'd left Cybertron. Whoever it was  _deserved_  what they got.

"An'dey call us sparkless. At least we find d'truth  _afore_  judgement..." He muttered, optics narrowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron was so happy, then things happened and now it's a cycle he's trapped in. I'm thinking you guys will guess who the prodigy is.
> 
> So.. I don't know if anyone noticed, but Non-Earth Autobots in Animated are really quick to jump on the Guilty/Blame/Cover up things/For the Greater Good bandwagon. That does not exactly imply a nice culture under the surface...
> 
> Thanks for any and all reviews. They really do make my day.


	11. Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jettwins are based primarily on  _Rise of Safeguard_  comic with some things taken from the toy bio, and on what I think the Seeker coding should have done to them. Jazz is...Jazz.

**(Of battles and combining and Vortex.)**

Semi-sprawled in the command chair, Jazz strongly lamented the fact their spacebridge network wasn't as all-encompassing as it  _could_  have been. They'd hopped through the Main Hub to the closest 'bridge, but it was still the shuttle's hyperdrive that did most of the legwork, even if they'd shaved cycles off travel time.

Hopefully, they'd actually catch Lockdown and grab Prowl back, but he wasn't optimistic enough on that. The mech had a good cycle or two lead time on them, even  _with_  the hyperspace drives and spacebridge hopping.

And that was  _assuming_  they'd plotted the correct course. Ideally, he'd have grabbed 'Raj, Hound, Getaway, and Skids and sent them to the other locations, but with the 'Con's outright abandoning camps or raiding places, they were pressed enough and they  _needed_  them where they were.

He was the best for this mission. He could keep his emotions under control.

That didn't make the trip any less  _boring_  nor keep his mind from wondering to could-have-beens, would-have-beens.

To what he'd almost  _had_. To  _what_  he'd lost.

Jazz cycled his intakes and scrubbed a hand over his face. Just when he thought he'd managed to bury that part of his past. At least with Optimus and Bumblebee that one time he'd been expecting it. Prowl was different enough he'd hoped to have the mech as a friend, at least.

Now Lockdown had Prowl and Jazz wanted to  _scream_. "Frag-"

Jetstorm's voice cut into his thoughts and Jazz did not jump. He didn't. He was Spec Ops. Not a Rookie. "Sir? Are you..?"

"'M fine, Jetstorm. Just thinking." More or less. A glance back showed Jetfire was still napping, sprawled out in his chair like only a young mech could do.

"About?"

"This and that. Mostly you guys." An easy lie. Funny how  _easy_  it was to lie these days.

Jetstorm blinked at his commander and Jazz laughed. "It's cool. Just 'bout what I read in yer files an' how cranky Sentinel prob'ly is over me 'stealin' ya away'."

"I see." Jetstorm nodded, not seeing at all, but Jazz had to give the kid some credit for trying. "It was interesting?"

"Yea. It was a cool read," Jazz grinned at the headtilt. Score for him over literal-minded mecha. "So. Y'memorised the target area?"

"It is to be difficult mission, but is possible it is."

Difficult because they  _didn't_  have up-to-date intel, but it was do-able. "Anythin's possible if you put yer mind to it, ya dig?"

"I am digging." Jetstorm nodded. It was still a strange word to use for understanding, but then again, Jazz was a strange mech.

"Good. Wake your brother, we're in range to glide in." The Special Ops sat up as he keyed the shuttle to settle into a loose orbit around the icy moon. They could see the station. It wasn't more than three hundred metres away. A good distance. He wasn't going to risk landing the shuttle, not when some part of this  _didn't_  sit right with him. But they  _had_  to have the footage and there was a good chance if they went through Official Channels, it'd be deleted. Neutral his aft when it came to the owners.

He  _wanted_  to find Prowl. He wanted to get him the pit away from Lockdown.

"Yes, Sir."

While Jetstorm roused his twin, Jazz grabbed the jetpack, shoving down any and all thoughts that he was emotionally compromised. He  _wasn't_. The jetpack wasn't much, but it was something and he didn't like the idea of getting a piggyback unless he couldn't avoid it. Once it was on and both twins were up and ready, he led them to the exit hatch.

"Stay close and if things get dicey, you guys split and get back to the ship, understand?"

"...Yes, Sir."

Jazz did not miss the look both shared, nor the way they hesitated, but he'd deal with that later. The order had been for their sake; he didn't know  _how_  they'd react to be separated in the heat of a real battle. He wasn't even sure they'd been  _trained_  like other gestalt teams.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but he'd learned long ago to cover his bases when dealing with twins.

Still, he was hoping for a nice, easy mission as he opened the hatch and activated the jetpack.

Allspark, but his spark did jump at the sound of the jets just a fraction before his CPU kicked in and he dampened the signals – one Autobot and two a mix of Decepticon and Autobot, and pulled a notice-me-not trick. The processor-over-matter trick wouldn't work for long, but it would, hopefully, work long enough for what they needed to do.

He was glad it was space though. The sound of jet turbines didn't carry. Sound didn't carry at all.

Once they touched down on the outer rim of the station - it wasn't a wide rim, no more than twenty metres wide - Jazz led them quickly and silently to one of the docking bays some thirty metres away, keeping them low and in the shadows, as silent as possible. These docking bays, while open to space, did conduct sound. Not a lot, but it was something that  _could_  give them away.

Their colours weren't exactly meant to blend in, but he  _wasn't_  Head of Ops and a CyberNinja from the Meiryō f Dojo for nothing. With some liberal use of processor-over-matter to hopefully deal with cameras, mecha, guards and the like, they managed to make it to the security-terminal room without more notice.

He hated this. If they were caught  _now_ , it was Game Over. Neutrals did not mess around; this was a drastic breach no matter the reason, and his 'field was pricking unease. Probably the twins. He hoped.

At least it was tucked away in the shadows. A motion to the twins to keep alert, and Jazz hacked the lock, expertly avoiding setting off the breach alerts. Nasty stuff, but the security was expected.

Once open, he gave it a scan then slipped in, heading straight for the terminal, motioning for the jets to follow him.

_/Shut the door and keep your blasters on it. It's one way in, one way out, and we don't want to get stuck in here./_

The twins nodded, obeying the order.

Jazz relaxed a fraction, his own sensor's pinged towards the door as well while his attention focused on the task before him. A hand over the keypad and a jack slid out from his wrist; normally he'd take the time to do it without the cable since it ran the risk of leaving a sort of 'thumbprint' of him in the terminal's memory. But they needed speed; it could make all the difference catching Lockdown before he vanished into Decepticon space.

It could also mean the difference between getting out without making a ruckus or getting caught.

If the owners weren't Decepticon, he would have gone the Official Channel. Wouldn't have a choice. But they – _he_ – needed the Intel on Prowl's whereabouts and the owners were  _Decepticons_.

Jazz shook his head; didn't matter now. He was in. He glossed the footage quickly until he found what he was looking for. He started to copy it, shunting it into his own banks for later.

He would dissect it later. He had to rescue Prowl.

He pulled the cable. Two breems had passed. They had maybe another few breems before his trick failed.

 _/Got what we need. Let's get out of here,_ gentlemechs _./_

The twins nodded and Jazz could tell Jetfire was twitchy. Understandable; the twin's first mission like this, and he was now positive they hadn't the mental training the rest of the linked teams had. He was going to murder Sentinel and make it look like an accident, Candidate or not. At least Jetstorm appeared to be coping better.  _/Keep it together you two./_

_/We are trying, sir./_

Huh. That was interesting. The speech glitch didn't show up over comms.  _/Right. What's it look like outside?/_

He knew, having run a scan himself, but he wanted to give them a confidence boost. Wouldn't hurt them.

 _/We seem to be clear to get out./_  Jetstorm relayed slowly and Jazz could tell he wasn't sure of his own observation, but it was the first time out of the Sim-Training that he'd had to do this so it was understandable too.

 _/Then let's get while the_ gettin's _good./_  He carefully eased out of the room – making sure to relock the door once everyone was out -, keeping himself between the pair that followed him.

No, flanked him as if in a Trine formation and that was Decidedly Odd, but Jazz wasn't complaining right now. Again he took to the shadows, keeping the twins close to him as they moved, trusting Jetstorm to keep Jetfire calm.

Jazz couldn't afford for his attention to be divided as he led them back the way they'd come.

But even the most careful made mistakes; Intel is old. Just because there didn't appear to be drones around, that everyone ignored him, or hidden cameras, didn't mean they weren't there. That Jazz himself hadn't been spotted. That his trick had fooled everyone.

That he wasn't  _rusty_.

It must have been only a few metres before the outer doors when someone opened fire on them from above. Jazz's 'field flared with the fight or flight response as Jetfire jerked, flamethrowers kicking on automatically as he returned fire.

Slag, he'd gotten careless. He'd been too worried about the twins to do things properly –

"Fragging pit-"

That was  _Vortex_. Jetfire had opened fire on  _Vortex_  of all mechs. Jazz tackled the twin to the ground with a shout while the rotary cackled with laughter, doing an easy spin in the air as he circled.

Jazz knew if they moved  _right now_ , they'd be ringholed by bullets.

So much for an easy mission. Well, they could retreat and fight at the same time – provided Vortex didn't have back up coming. But knowing the Combaticon, he  _did_.

Jazz gave in.

He slipped into Operative – like he  _should_  have done in the first place, some dark insidious part of him whispered.  _Rusty_.

 _/You have the element of surprise. Use it; keep him away from me as we retreat./_  He could upload as he went; It'd be tricky, but do-able.  _/Keep me safe./_

He'd be vulnerable for the next breem.

The twins nodded and took to the air, transforming with shrieks of delight. Vortex jerked. They landed hits on him, but the older, deadlier 'Con laughed it off as he avoided the next shots. Jazz ignored the admittedly one-sided fight overhead as he moved towards the doors. The twins would run rings around him. They were  _Seeker-kin_. Vortex was a helio. This was assuming Vortex didn't realise the fliers were limited by Jazz. On a realistic scale that  _wasn't_  going to happen unless he was lucky as Pit. Decepticons picked on what weakness they could find; that was the  _universal truth_  as far as Jazz knew it.

And Vortex was  _smart_.

The Operative trusted his partners to keep him alive long enough for the upload.

"Come back and play, microbots! Or are you too  _scared_  to play with the big mechs?"

"We are not scaredy 'bots!" Jetfire hissed, and then rolled, dodging the fire from Vortex.

"Then come and take it like a real 'bot!"

"We shall-"

Jazz glanced up in time to see it and he blinked. That... was a little  _too_  much like Starscream's own moves. They'd likely picked it up from the Sims. But then Jetfire was charging Vortex who'd unleashed a hail of fire that had clipped one of Jetstorm's wings.

Well _slag_. This was going downhill and faster than a speeding train because untried twins in the middle of life-and-death battle and the upload was-

Vortex hovered in place, waiting, watching, and radiating the smugness of a glutted predator playing with his prey-

"Jetfire-"

It was  _too late_. Jetfire was in range and Vortex neatly avoided the charge, transformed then landed heavily on Jetfire with a growl of triumph. Jetfire screamed as sharp claws dug into the thin metal of wings. bucking and thrashing as one wing was slowly peeled off, the helio laughing, working his claws deeper into the wing before tearing it off completely. Jetfire transformed into root-mode mid-air, arm held by the Decepticon, but there was a look in those orange-yellow eyes that went far  _beyond_  the ugly snarl marring his face.

A grin worthy of  _Starscream_  crossed his face. Vortex reeled and Jetfire struck out with his feet, catching him in the chest.

Jazz stood, transfixed, the Operative's sensors keeping watch for everything else. That was probably  _not_  the brightest move in the history of aerial warfare–

Jetstorm slammed pede-first into Vortex's head. The shock was enough for them both to get clear. They shared a look before the conversion to Safeguard started. It only took a few kliks– Vortex stalling mid-air in shock- then Safeguard  _snarled_ , turbines shrieking with rage as he started to lay into the Decepticon.

Someone strafed them.

The Operative snapped into the here-and-now as he flipped and handsprung away from Blast Off. A potshot at Safeguard announced Brawl's arrival. Safeguard turned its - his - attention away from Vortex to take shots at the Combaticons. Vortex opened fire at Jazz as the Special Ops twisted to avoid most of the fire. Safeguard let out a  _shriek_  of rage, wings twitching, hiking in a way that Jazz hoped was rage.

Blast Off cackled. Jazz belatedly remembered the shuttle could  _read_  a Seeker's bodily language, ducking another shot from Brawl that landed him on his aft. Rusty rusty  _rusty as pit._  At least with the fliers focused on Safeguard he only had to deal with Brawl.

"No.. not getting away." Safeguard strafed the Combaticons with gunshots and flame fanned by wind, actions mostly aimed at Vortex.

Jazz tensed. Brawl was retreating-  _SLAG NO_. He hissed as he spotted Swindle and Onslaught making their way onto the field, the other Combaticons circling around, closer-

Slag sucking creator fragging pits- his jetpack wouldn't be able to outrun  _that_.  _/Get us the slag out of here_ _ **now**_ _!/_

_/On it!/_

Jazz got to his feet and jumped and scrabbled for a hold on Safeguard when the combiner passed him. Safeguard stalled for a klik, arms wrapping around Jazz before they kicked into overdrive. The three were out of range by the time Bruticus formed. The giant gestalt roared in fury, taking one last potshot that Safeguard rolled to avoid, as the way-too-similar-to-a-Seeker combiner jetted away, back to the shuttle.

Thankfully, it was still cloaked.

They landed in a pile on the ground, and Jazz was up, the jetjack shed, and at the controls, doors shut and getting them the  _hell out of dodge_  by the time the twins had split. Both looked ragged, but determined to stay online until they were away from the blasted station. Jazz nodded once and programmed in coordinates for the nearest Autobot outpost.

His spark was racing, his mind on mission high. They needed medics. Cybertron was too far away. Jetfire was missing a  _wing_. They had to fix that ASAP; he didn't want to be in a shuttle with an antsy flier for longer than needed. The Operative remembered Fireflight so very,  _very_  well.

Autopilot engaged, the CyberNinja turned back to the twins. Without a word, he approached and started staving off the energon flow from the worst wounds, starting with Jetfire. "You two did well out there for yer first battle."

Jetstorm grinned, though it was weak. "Was fun."

"They dirty fighting and targeting weakness.  _Especially_  rotor-bot."

"Con's'll do that. Just be glad we booked it when we did. Bruticus is a  _mean_  customer." He finished up doing the basic patches. There wasn't much he could have done, but it would last until they reached the outpost about a cycle away. He got them a cube of energon. "Let's get you two re-energized. The medic at the outpost will have my head if I let you two walk around like ya are."

He wasn't kidding either. Most medics  _were a force_  to be reckoned with.

"We will have to get better," Jetfire said, taking the offered energon with a nod. "To take on Decepticons."

"Outpost?" Jetstorm blinked, then blinked again. "Are we not top of secret?"

"Mech, you're missin' a wing. I think Magnus will let this one slide. But," Jazz held up a hand to forestall any protest about him not following the Chain of Command. "Let me contact Magnus, see what the head honcho has to say."

"Okie for dokie."

Jazz grinned and slid back into the control chair. A quick key-in of his access codes to Magnus' direct line later -

"Yes, Jazz?" Magnus' optics flickered in surprise at the damage done to the CyberNinja and the twins. To the serious face of an Operative. "Problems, I assume?"

Jazz nodded. "Weren't quite as careful as we could have been. Had a direct run-in with the Combaticons. They'll either kick up a fuss or claim I, 'being blacklisted', violated their station's rules."

"And you're in one piece."

"Safeguard got us out of it. Got the data we needed, though. I haven't had time to sort through it all yet, cause I've been patchin' the kids up."

"Who?" Magnus' optics flickered to the twins in the background before he nodded.

"Jetfire got a little too close to Vortex and he started tearing at his wings, and that didn't sit too well with 'Storm. Safeguard seemed to have a go at him too, when he shot at me."

"I see."

Jazz wasn't sure he  _liked_  the thoughtful look on the Magnus's face. "Are we cleared to go to the nearest outpost for repairs, or should we return to Cybertron? I got 'em patched up enough that they won't be offlinin' anytime soon, but they need a medic ASAP before..."

Magnus grimaced. "A code's being transmitted now."

Jazz stored the codes and nodded. "I've got some mechs in the outpost we're heading to that can keep a secret, even if it'll be abuzz the Con's soon enough. Thanks, Sir. Do you have any further orders for us?"

Magnus's lips quirked in something of a smile. "You have your orders,  _Operative_."

"Yes, Sir." Jazz saluted.

Once the commlink was cut Jazz turned back to the twins with a grin. "Go get some rest. Outpost is a cycle away by hyperspace."

"Yes, Sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz is emotionally compromised and also rusty. From what I can gather, in Animated he seems to hang around Magnus, so I assume that's doing Desk Work, given he also got his aft handed to him by Starscream, who didn't seem to be trying.
> 
> Thank you for any comments/concrit you might have, and if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them.


	12. Aftermath, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of several things, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combaticons and Stunitcons personalities are very much drawing inspiration from the G1 cartoon with little input from other TF-canons, and adapted to Animated.
> 
>  **WARNING:**  This chapter touches on what is basically pregnancy for pure profit. It's minor, but it needs a warning. Slavery is openly discussed and brought up. Barricade is Not A Nice Mech. Please proceed with caution.

**(Of Swindle knowing things, Prowl not having a happy time, and Barricade being really fucked up.)**

" _What. Happened. Out. There_?" Onslaught's fist slammed into the wall of the station as his optics blazed over the rest of his somewhat battered team. They flinched back. Not only had  _Onslaught_  been dragged into a fight that should have been  _easy_ , but they'd been bested by a pair of barely mature  _Autobot fliers_  and one lone Ninja. The fact the Ninja -a CyberNinja- had been  _Jazz_  didn't lessen the sting of defeat.

No. Not bested. They'd been  _denied_  a proper fight. But bested sounded only  _marginally_  better to seething egos.

"How the  _frag_  did the Autobots get  _fliers_  again and why didn't our spies know?"

"Exactly!" Vortex said, jumping on his teammate's words while he went over the security feeds. "I was flyin' blind. Expected a couple o' dirtmunchers, not- whatever  _that_  was."

"They  _shouldn't_  have fliers. Did they go to Speed-"

"We'd have heard about it by now. Nah.  _Velocitron_  fliers know they leave, Screamer's kind'll shoot their pretty wings off first chance they get," Swindle said, emphasising Speed's correct name.

"Yea, and if they don't,  _we_  will." Brawl growled, overlaying the glyphs for 'we' with Decepticon.

"Hmh. They don't have the coding for it; Superion's gone, Skyfire suicide mission'd if I recall correctly..." Privately, they all thought  _that_  had been the breaking point for Starscream. First his Matria, then his Trine,  _then_  his own Amica. "We know all traces of Autobot fliers and the coding was wiped out at the end of the War. No flier worth their struts'd sign up to be an Autobot." Blast Off seethed, hands fisting then unfisting as he struggled to rein in a tempter that the gestaltlink was amplifying.

Swindle growled, but his mind was three steps ahead of his brothers, watching the feeds intently. "It's not Autobot coding. Some of the scrap they pulled was Decepticon tactics.  _Starscream tactics_. They must have gotten their hands on the Seeker Prince's coding."

"How the-" That was Brawl.

"The Elite Guard musta had him for a bit. He's going to pitch a fit over this."

"Younglings should  _not_  be that strong. Decepticon coding or not." Blast Off lent against the wall. "Let him; insane fragger's got the right given he's the Lord of the Skies until he can Spark an heir."

"Don't Seeker mechs need a Matria to get Sparked?" Vortex frowned. Why the slag were Seekers so complicated in coding, let along language and what they called themselves. Lei- something.

Brawl shrugged. "I don't think so. I heard a grounder can get any Seeker Sparked."

Swindle flashed a winning grin. "I could do it. Make a tidy pro-"

Blast Off ignored Brawl, and Swindle's choked off whimper as pure  _anger_  flashed the gestaltbond, adding to the punch Onslaught'd already given his Endura. "Do we know why they were here?"

 _Why_  they didn't go through the fragging  _Official Channels_  like they  _should_  have.

"Yes. They were chasing Lockdown." Vortex pointed to a backup system that showed what data Jazz had copied. "Or the Ninja with him."

Four sets of optics turned on Swindle.

"Swindle. You  _knew_  him." Brawl loomed over his teammate. If he couldn't fight the Autobots, then he'd beat the information out of Swindle. It'd make him feel better too.

"I wouldn't say I knew him-"

Brawl slammed his teammate into a wall with a growl, hand digging into the slightly smaller's shoulder struts, ignoring the squirms and hiss of pain. Behind him, the rest crowded around.

"You  _knew_  him, Swindle." Blast Off pointedly reminded their arms-dealer.

"He's from the Earth team."

"Same team that handed you over to organics. The same organics we had to rescue you from befo-"

"Yes...?" Swindle hissed when Brawl's fingers dug in. " _Yes_. Same team that Megatron is toying with. I don't know  _how_  Lockdown got him.  _Let me go_!" The end was punctuated by a fierce kick. With all of his power and weight thrown behind it, Brawl's grip loosened enough that Swindle could drag in a needed intake of air and not feel like he was jarring every system he had. "His name was  _Prowl_."

"You're slagging  _glitching_  me. I blew the fragger's spark  _in_  back when we still held Nebulon! Remember? You lot  _made_  his Conjunx Endura watch." Brawl released his grip, though remained looming over Swindle as the mech drew in needed air to cool overclocked systems.

Vortex cackled at the memory. "Good times. Would do again. We broke him  _good_  for a while."

Swindle's grin turned feral - even backed into a corner like he was, he was still a Combaticon, matching Brawl's bristling temper as he continued. "Goldbug's also with them. So's Optimus."

"What?"

All four of them stared at Swindle like the Right-Leg had suddenly grown self-restraint programming.

Onslaught was the first to recover. "Impossible-"

"They said Zarak -"

"- ripped his Spark out; killed - "

"- both him and Gigatron because they'd-"

"-Bonded. It  _ended_  the Primal Age."

"That was  _four teravorn_ _ago_. The Destron War-" Swindle hissed, kicking Brawl back to give himself space. Talk of things they'd only  _ever_  heard of in whispers, hot sticky air in his vents, bristling EM-fields that pricked over his in familiar ways that he loved but  _not_  right now, and still heated systems made for a cranky, irritable Swindle. "But it's  _unlikely_  he's actually the Last Prime come back to life. Slagger shares a name and colours,  _nothing_  else. But he's still got a babysitter."

"You sure?" Brawl growled and Swindle shot him a  _look_.

"Why else would Ratchet be with them. One of them took a Wrecker name and looks like it, but  _that_  idiot's not even worth half of Bulkhead. Then there's Goldbug-"

"Goldbug?" Vortex stared, visor flickering in disbelief. "But didn't Snaptrap  _drown_  him in the Acidic Sea on-"

"Do I look like I know? I just know what I  _saw_."

Vortex had to give Swindle that. "So, when do we head there?"

"When  _Megatron_  calls us there. It is only a matter of time if things are as Swindle says." Onslaught gave them all a stern look. They were not going to crash the party, no matter how badly they wanted to. "Vortex, hail Lockdown. I think that we all have a  _few_  words to say to the Earth-bot as we tell him about the tail he has."

"Of course they are," Swindle grumbled, but the subtle pulse of anger from Onslaught's 'field shut him up. His earlier comment had  _not_  been forgotten.

Vortex smirked as he keyed in the codes, Swindle standing beside him, rubbing the struts where Brawl had gripped.

"What can I do for you, Swindle?" Lockdown asked in GSNC once he came onto the screen,

"I'll cut to the chase. We had Elite Guard visitors soon after you and that  _slave_  left, Lockdown. We thought that you'd want a heads up on this fact," Swindle sneered, easily slipping into the same language, not bothering to call the Autobot anything other than  _what_  it really was. Vortex tried to peer around the other to see if said slave was near enough or even in view given GSNC was used. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean that Lockdown wasn't blocking the view.

Lockdown tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That was fast. I didn't expect them to come after us for a few cycles yet. I can assume they didn't leave in one piece?"

"They  _left_  in one piece because they  _somehow_  copied Starscream's flier tech and  _made fliers_!" Swindle all but snarled, rather sore about getting no good fight, and Brawl and Onslaught's combined tempers were doing nothing to help his own. "They, and the CyberNinja with them, escaped while we were merging to Bruticus."

" _What_? You'd think they'd  _fragging_  learn." Lockdown partially snarled into the screen, and behind him, almost out of view, something black-and-gold flinched back.

"They are Autobots. What the slag do you think? Anything that can be used against us is and they sure as frag don't respect the sanctity of Seekers anymore. You know that." Swindle hissed, drawing in an intake to steady himself, hands slowly unfisting as he struggled to control his anger at a larger situation that he couldn't buy or talk his way out of.

"What CyberNinja? If he was Elite Guard, that leaves a few different mechs..." Lockdown frowned in thought.

"Jazz."

"Jazz, huh? They must  _really_  want Prowl back then." Lockdown's optics flicked to the side before he grunted at something too soft to catch over the commlinks.

"I wonder why. It's listening, isn't it?" Vortex shoved Swindle to the side - ignoring the grunt and scowl from his brother -in hopes of getting the mech to rise to the bait and show himself.

"I don't like to let him run around the ship unattended. He tends to get into all kinds of trouble on his own."

Vortex leaned forward, putting his hands on the console. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

"Stop hiding it," Blast Off growled from off-screen. "It's an Earth-bot. Let us see it."

Lockdown smirked and soon enough a rather disgruntled Ninja was dragged onto the bounty hunter's lap. Though, the disgruntled look shifted to an uncomfortable one when Lockdown rested his chin on the Ninja's head, cruel smirk splitting his faceplates. That wasn't even taking into account  _where_  the hook rested.

Swindle snickered. Loudly.

Vortex clenched his hands into fists, though the thought they'd interrupted Lockdown's  _playtime_  was an amusing one. Oh well. The Ninja was in view now and Vortex  _knew_  Prowl understood GSNC at least somewhat. "Listen here you pile of worthless junk. Next time I see you, you better be ready to beg to Primus for mercy. Your master won't always be around, and a reject model like you won't be a challenge at all."

"Yea. Little scrap like you ain't a challenge at all for us, you know? Though... that yellow one - Goldbug -"

"Bumblebee," Prowl corrected though there was a flicker of confusion in his optics.

"I'll call that slag pile what I want, Autobot." Swindle snarled, optics narrowing. "The yellow one though... Oh we have plans for that one."

"Ohh. It speaks at last?" Blast Off mocked, still off-screen. "Though you was muted, scrapling."

Vortex held up his energon stained claws, needles extending as optics glinted. Though he couldn't actually  _do_  anything through a screen, the black-and-gold's flinch was nice. Refreshing. It was how an Autobot  _should_  be, cowed, scared, trembling. Fearing what a Decepticon could do to it. His battlemask retracted to show the cruel grin on his face. "I'll peel your plating off piece by piece. You'll be begging me to kill you by the time I'm finished, you hear me?"

"I'll sell your parts off to the highest bidder as they come off." Swindle openly laughed and Vortex could tell the arms-dealer was enjoying it. Not to the level that Vortex did of course, but it was enjoyed nonetheless.

The rotary laughed at the flinch the words got. "Lucky for you though, we're  _not_  in the business of stealing another's  _property_."

Oh, they could if they wanted -and Lockdown knew it- but there wasn't any fun in that and it would have been a hollow victory with nothing proved other than one was too cowardly to take what they wanted without a fight.

"Do you have anything else worth hearing? I  _was_  in the middle of something."

"Move into Decepticon space and go in deep. It'll hide your trail to the Elite Guard," Onslaught cut in though optics flickered to Prowl. "Either they're wanting to bring you in, or you have something valuable enough to warrant  _Jazz_  being sent after you."

Lockdown nodded, optics flicking thoughtfully to the tense Ninja on his lap. "I'll keep my optics open for anything interesting to pay you back with. For now..."

The bounty hunter smirked, openly groped Prowl's thigh vent and closed the connection, leaving the Combaticons to their imaginations.

Onslaught turned, grabbed Swindle before he could escape, and literally dragged his Endura somewhere private.

The rest chuckled, Vortex practically collapsing into a puddle of manic giggles following Swindle's shriek of ' _What the frag_ \- You  _know_  I can't open them without  _permission_  because of the  _fragging_ -'.

'That is  _not the point_ , Swindle.' was followed by the sound of something crunching alongside a yowl.

Even Vortex winced, closing off the gestaltbond as quickly as he could. Onslaught in a mood was not a happy Onslaught.

They all knew what happened when Swindle joked about whoring his spark out and selling the results, again. Blast Off scrubbed his face. "I'm going to go see Axe. See if we can't force the Autobots to pay for the damages done by a 'blacklisted idiot torquing us off.'"

"You, Me, sparring ring." Brawl grunted, dragging Vortex after him. The rotary didn't protest. A spar would be nice.

* * *

Once the connection to the Combaticons was cut, Prowl wasted no time in digging an elbow into the Decepticon that held him, disgust, fear and panic working their way into his processor. It only grew into dread which sank into an unsettling knot in his tanks when Lockdown chuckled and his grip tightened as the hook strayed up his inner thigh. Prowl tensed with a pathetic, half choked whimper - then the hook was gone, folded away so his other hand was usable as the grip relaxed. Not enough that Prowl could wriggle free, but enough that it was... Comfortable.

As comfortable as it  _could be_  given Prowl wanted  _away_  and Lockdown appeared to want him right where he was. "What was that?"

He'd understood most of it and wished he  _hadn't_.

"Decepticon politics. Get used to it kid."

"Get used to being a  _slave_." Prowl couldn't keep the venom out of his voice nor did he want to. Everything he'd been told about Decepticons had just been confirmed it seemed. Which meant Lockdown had been  _lying_  to him about  _everything_  and Prowl had stupidly,  _naively_  trusted him - fallen for the Decepticon's words hook line and sinker and now it was too late to flee. And oh how he  _wanted_  to flee. "I belong to no-one, Lockdown."

"Wrong." Lockdown's grip tightened and Prowl didn't even try and stop himself from struggling. The struggling went nowhere though as Lockdown growled into the Ninja's audio. "You belong to  _me_ , kid. You  _agreed_  to it. You planning on backing out of the deal?"

"I-" Panic bubbled up in his processor when the grip on him shifted, turning into something that he really did not want to think about and he shook his head rapidly, intakes struggling to pull in cool air. Only when Lockdown adjusted his grip it wasn't as blatant a threat –at least he wasn't trying for Taboo - did the panic even start to begin to subside. "O-Of course not."

"A pet is a step up from a slave and means you get  _some_  choice about your fate. Not a lot, but you have some."

"No." No no no this  _wasn't_  happening. Prowl knew it was stupid to allow panic to overtake him but as seemed to be the theme around Lockdown, all of his logic circuits seemed to want to crash, or surrender to his emotional side. Which was panicking.

"Unless you'd rather be an  _unclaimed_  Autobot in Decepticon space," Lockdown's voice turned cruel. "Those are free game, and not everyone is as  _nice_  as me..."

"What." Prowl felt his spark run cold. If he was unclaimed then that helio-con could get him-

"Means anyone can swoop in and claim you. Or-" Lockdown dragged a hand up and pushed against the sparkplate seams, EM-field hot, sticky and overbearingly  _cruel_  against his own. His vocaliser blurted static, his own 'field bleeding fear- "Take that pretty spark and snuff it out."

Then it was gone, Lockdown holding him like before. It didn't change the fact Prowl felt sick and his vents couldn't quite drag in needed cool air. By the Allspark- "I –You- You –  _Let me go_!"

He gave into panic.

He thrashed, kicked, and squirmed, but try as he might, Lockdown held him in place, optics cold, cruel as they watched the Ninja exhaust himself over the course of several breems. Prowl glared at the floor, hating himself, hating how  _easily_  he'd been tricked into  _agreeing_  to a life of slavery, of servitude. He hated how easily Lockdown pressed his sparkplates and how he could so so so easily pry them open. Prowl shoved that down, away. He didn't want to think about it. Lockdown hadn't. He  _wouldn't_. He had no choice but to  _trust_  the bounty hunter–

The fact Lockdown didn't bring up the  _other_  choice he'd had back on Earth was…somewhat comforting, but– he was a Decepticon. That threat likely was a standing one and Prowl swallowed, hard. "Lockdown, you said–"

"Yea, about that..." And Prowl swore his spark stopped when Lockdown's grip only tightened again. "You're right. You don't appear to belong to anyone. We gotta fix that."

"Wha.. I...How?" Prowl did not like the direction - or the change of conversation- this was going in at all but the grip was ironclad and he really didn't have much wriggle room anymore.

"Decepticon's use two types of collar to mark what they own. We used to have three, but the last one fell out of style, though  _some_  still use it."

Yep. Prowl did not like this topic already, but at least it wasn't about interfacing. He was going to nightmares about that. But with Lockdown holding him in place there really was no way he could escape – or get enough focus up to try anything related to circuit-su or such. - Wait say  _what_? "Two?"

"Yea. The first slave-collar's anchored to the primary spinal cables. Shock collar, and disables transformations."

"And the other...?"

"Simple slave-collar. Seamless once on. Allows for transformations. Neither'll come off without the correct code."

"There doesn't sound like much difference between them." Because no, seriously. Decepticons were brutes. Why would they even have two types. That didn't fit with what he knew. "The third?"

"Spark based. Risky and requires surgery." His captor shrugged. "Most undercovers use it if they dare take a slave or pet with them."

Prowl could tell there was more to it than that, but he let it slide. He really  _didn't_  want to know. "I – Oh."

Lockdown grunted, shifted his grip then called up a file onto the screen after a few kliks of fiddling. Prowl didn't even want to know  _why_  he had the files in the first place. He simply studied the pair of collars. One was the standard issue bulky type that seemed to have attachments and Prowl pointedly did not think of what those could be used for. Bad enough the Decepticons seemed to think interfacing in  _public_  was ok! He pointedly ignored that it was spark-to-spark. That was – feral. Unnatural.  _Taboo_.–

Prowl refused to let his CPU wonder.

The other collar was thin and delicate looking. It didn't seem to be practical when it came to a race of warriors – until he read the notes and baulked. Both were shock collars, both programmed to shock if any attempt at removing them was made. Both opened only to the correct key and energy signature of the one who owned the mech who wore either.

Both could be programmed to deliver  _lethal_  doses of electricity.

"The thin one doesn't appear Decepticon style."

"Decorative and functional. Like some of our femmes."

Wait what - "...Decepticon femmes?"

"Mmm. One-third of High Command is made up of them."

"I was under the impression Decepticon Femmes didn't exist."

Lockdown smirked. "What we  _wanted_  you think."

Well, that made sense, in a twisted sort of way. "Do they fight?"

"Yea."

Prowl swallowed back the retort at how  _wrong_  that was and forced himself to relax into the Decepticon that held his freedom on a leash. He knew that somehow before the end of the cycle he'd be wearing a collar so it was rather pointless to fight what you couldn't prevent. Didn't mean he had to  _like_  it or stop beating himself up for getting into this mess in the  _first place_. "Was everything you said, before...?"

"Frag no. I mean what I said." Lockdown nuzzled his Ninja slightly, ignoring the flinch from Prowl as he turned off the screen. "My world is a harsh place though kid, and yer an Autobot. Talk like that? you'll hear a lot."

 _Assuming_  he understood it, and Lockdown seemed to think he would. "I'm not a kid-"

"You're what. Six gee old and I can guess how you came online."

Prowl scowled, squirming at the reminder of his age. By Earth timeframes, he was roughly a million years old. Still very young for his race who could and  _did_  routinely live to be at least twenty-five million years old, if not  _older_. His Sensei had been  _old_. "...And the groping?"

"They'll assume I'm fragging you senseless."

Prowl shivered.  _Not_  a mental image he wanted in his CPU  _thank you very much_. Decepticons had some sort of vile fixation on interfacing.

Lockdown chuckled. "Don't worry. I  _will_  wait."

"Of course." Prowl glared at the wall. Between a rock and a hard place and he'd foolishly allowed himself to get into the situation almost willingly. Not good. Not Good and if Lockdown was telling the truth then he couldn't just flee and hope to Allspark and Primus that he made it out of Decepticon space and back to the Autobots because  _realistically_  the chances of that were slim. That wasn't adding what his frame looked like to Decepticon optics and the fact he wouldn't stand a chance against most Decepticons when it came to hand to hand. That Lockdown was a  _bounty hunter_  who could -  _would_  catch him again and-

Then there was the fact he was a Ninja.

He could do the maths and it wasn't in his favour. Still...

"I wasn't lying when I said you had potential either." Lockdown changed tacks and Prowl relaxed somewhat. "Once we've got your upgrades in, we can get you better training materials. I might even be able to set up some personal training with an old friend, though I haven't talked to him for vorn. Sixshot owes me a few favours anyway."

"Sixshot?"

Lockdown said something, and Prowl stared. "I didn't understand that." What on Cybertron? He thought they'd all been talking the same language.

Lockdown blinked. "You'd call him a Ninja. War hero-"

"Decepticon's don't  _have_  heroes!"

"According to Autobots. To us, they are the epitome of a good solider. Maybe I'll introduce you to the hero of the Beast Planet that single-handedly held off the  _Wreckers_  by himself? Pretty sure  _the General_  wouldn't mind. Or I could introduce you to Esmeral and her Amica Endurae."

Prowl blinked. "That's... not possible." The Wreckers were the best of the best. "Who's Esmeral?"

"Bonded Conjunx Endura to Deathsaurus."

"Oh." He didn't know who that was, and his tank told him he  _didn't_  want to know.

Lockdown just smirked and made himself comfortable and Prowl glared more daggers at the commscreen. If that was the way the Decepticon wanted to play it  _fine_ , but they didn't have heroes; they only had brutes and mass murders. Anyway, a lone Deceptcon couldn't hold off  _the Wreckers_  by himself, it just  _wasn't possible_. "Now, as I was saying kid, Sixshot's a 'Ninja'.  _Specialises_  in them to be exact. I  _might_  be able to wrangle you out a training lesson."

"I.. Wouldn't mind continuing my training," Prowl admitted slowly, staying as still as he could. Lockdown might have relaxed more, but Prowl was under no illusions about escaping the grip. So, rather than try, he looked anywhere but the screen now, not really happy at admitting anything right now. "What I attempted to your optics... I  _should've_  been able to do it, but..."

"Lots of rookies have trouble with things." Lockdown was thinking of the Decepticons who were rookie Ninjas, but Prowl didn't need to know  _that_. "Ah, well, I could probably throw something basic together you can practise on until we get to Mumu. I've got enough scrap metal lying around in one of the 'bays to improvise a frame, and I didn't give Swindle all the processors. Pull one of those apart enough and you have a drone." He tapped his fingers on Prowl's thigh as he thought, ignoring the way the Autobot started to squirm. "Should get those upgrades into you too."

"Of course."

"Now. One last question for ya kid. Any idea why they'd send the  _Head of Special Ops_  after you?"

"Huh?" Prowl blinked, staring at the image of Lockdown on the commscreen. "Jazz is-?"

What in the name of the Well-

"Yea.  _Normally_  they send trackers after Ninja.  _Not_  Special Ops." Lockdown peered at Prowl, humming. "They might have branded you a traitor."

Prowl froze, optics widening in horror then his head dropped down to look at where his symbol had been painted over. He looked away, tense, scared. He wasn't a traitor. There was no way that he was. "I- I'm not– you –you  _forced_  me…"

"Autobots tend to make  _snap judgements_  where traitors are concerned."

"You  _coerced_  me into–"

Lockdown was having none of it. "And  _you're_  the one who  _asked_  if you get your things, kid. You just said you  _wanted_  to continue your training. You're  _willingly_  taking what I offer you, kid, duress or not. You got something valuable in yer head so use it."

"Something valuable?" In his head - wait, stupid question. The only thing that could be called 'valuable' outside his head had already been handed over to Lockdown.

"Based on what Onslaught said," Lockdown said with a slight shrug. "How do you think they'll look at this."

Prowl's hands fisted and humiliation flashed across his visor as it burned in his optics. Lockdown was right. He  _had_  asked. He'd even thought about running then decided  _not_  to, to do what the other wanted. It was a decision made under duress, but – Lockdown had a point. He'd asked, he'd bargained with a Decepticon and he'd accepted an offer willingly, no matter the circumstances.

Of course they'd think him a traitor. It was what it looked like, but Prowl  _knew_  he  _wasn't_  one. He– He'd made the choice under duress. "I – I am not a traitor."

"Suit yourself, kid."

Prowl glared – then blinked when the other let him go. He quickly moved away, whirling to stare at the Decepticon, spark only marginally calmer. "What..."

"Silver or steel?"

His processor was starting to hurt from how many tacks this talk had taken. " _Pardon_."

Lockdown smirked. "The collar. You're the one who's gonna be  _wearing_  it, pet."

He knew Lockdown had done that on purpose. It didn't stop the glare or scowl at Lockdown's slag-eating grin.

"...Steel." If there wasn't any way out, then he had no choice but to go with the flow as much as he wanted to fight his way free. He couldn't. Lockdown was bigger, stronger and Prowl wasn't sure how long he'd last if the Decepticon  _really_  wanted to fight. Probably only a matter of kliks.

So, better to go with the lesser of two evils and submit rather than make a bad situation  _worse_.

"I'll find a gold one to match you later." Lockdown grinned and unsubbed the steel collar -seemed the other hadn't just gotten Ninja things off Swindle. Prowl shot him a disgusted look but allowed it to be placed around his neck. It was snug, but not enough to choke. A click then beep signalled it was locked in place and Prowl glared at the floor. He knew the cage that had been around him since he'd made that stupid, naive deal with his captor had now clicked shut and there really  _was_  no going back to his old life now.

He was already regretting the choice. "I hate you."

"I know."

Prowl literally stormed back to his room, 'field flashing twenty different emotions he was unwilling to deal with. That he  _didn't want_  to deal with it.

Perhaps meditation would help clear his mind (and clear out the desire to escape) and maybe he could figure out what the frag Onslaught had  _meant_.

* * *

The trap had sprung with perfection, the skirmish one-sided, brutal and it'd left him with prisoners like he'd wanted, and they had enough near dead or dead Autobots to keep Frenzy in hacking heaven and give him the high he chased after. Barricade was pleased...

And, staring at the kneeling Autobot, so very very nonplussed. "A medic."

_What the frag._

"Y-Yes." The Autobot medic whimpered as the muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of his helm. "Field medic!"

Barricade stared some more, revulsion coiling in his tanks. What the frag was a field medic? Some kind of medical mecha? Most of theirs were Support-class; they supported a gun as self-defence, or the case of the several medics that refused weapons, bodyguards. Those were strictly confined to New Kaon though. This one looked like a combat-frame. The frag.

"Who'd drag a medical mecha to the field?" You wanted a Doctor for that as they were Combat-class and liable to inflict violence if medical orders where disobeyed. Medical mecha were typically non-combatant, and far more likely to weld a skidplate to the medical berth if you disobeyed medical orders- even Megatron was not immune to this.

He'd heard Tarn'd been subjected to this once, by Nickel. Apparently, Vos had  _pictures._

An energon splattered grunt spoke up. "Combat-medic."

He squinted at the Autobot. "Huh."

"Doctor, Sir."

"Oh." Slagging Autobots and labelling  _everything the same_. But hey, it wasn't a non-combatant. Not that would have stopped him but it would have given him pause while his systems sorted through Decepticon Laws of War and then the Tyrest Accord. Still... there was only  _one_  true reason the Autobots brought a Doctor on the patrols.

Barricade's face twisted into a look of rage. "Have some fun with it."

It was only what the Autobots out here would have done with any of his kind they captured. Fair was fair and Barricade was  _not_  inclined to think that there could have been pure intentions. In all his long life, Autobots patrolling the outer colonies  _never_  had pure intentions. "Try not to kill. Lord Megatron'll be pleased to have  _this_  one for a prisoner."

"Awww. Come on, we have-"

He whirled on the grunt, ignoring the cries and pleas for non-existent mercy from the Autobot Doctor. "How about you do as told and I won't pike you and leave you to  _die_  like the scrap you are?"

The grunt nodded when the shocktrooper brought his claws up in unspoken threat. The grunt wasn't his Unit, the grunt was expendable, and Barricade was the  _only_  Senior Officer around. His word might as well have been  _Law._

"Good."

Barricade turned and stalked off, leaving the hapless Autobot Doctor to his fate, though he paused long enough to hear the first scream – and roared with laughter, knowing exactly  _what'd_  just been torn out. Pity, he would have liked to join in, but orders were orders and he had updates to give and receive, troops and other commanders to check in with, and then Wildrider. In that order of course. He was on duty and Wildrider might be his mate, but they weren't bonded. Most Decepticons didn't for reasons that boiled down to becoming a liability if the other side/s of the bond were offlined.

 _No-one_  wanted to be classed as that.

Barricade wouldn't bond anyway. It was just another thing to be taken advantage of, not to mention there was the whole gestalt thing going on with Wildrider. And Breakdown was Endura to  _Knock Out_  and he and the Doctor got along like oil and water.

 _Complicated_  didn't even start to describe it, but Barricade was happy enough.

He parked himself next to the long-range commsystems and made himself comfortable while he contacted those he had to, in order. It took some time - along with several growled threats - but he came away with good news to report to Megatron. All of the major outer colonies were in the process of pulling out, with the minor ones, like Lucifer was, already done. Most of them had at least a squad of Autobots prisoner so that was an added bonus. The 'trooper smirked to himself. The deactivation broadcasts were going to be  _fun_.

Maybe if he asked  _very nicely_ , Megatron would let him play with the big mechs, and maybe he could make his fragtoy participate. The last time he'd done that had been  _fun_.

Once the last of his lieutenants had been dealt with, he dialled the  _Miscreant_ 's comm-system. He ended up with a disgruntled looking Motormaster, who looked like he badly wanted to slag someone. "You look like slag."

Motormaster Glared. "Comes with having two Triple's on board."

Barricade winced. "Fragged Dead End yet?"

"Into the wall."

Barricade nodded, knowing Motormaster enough to know he'd also fragged the rest of his team. An Orgy he was semi-glad to have missed. He liked inflicting pain, not receiving it, unlike a psychotic masochist he could name. "'Rider around?"

"Yea. Let me get him." The surface-to-air missile truck paused. "Dead End took most of it this time. We  _gave_  him his  _kink_."

All for optics blinked and a small whine escaped him. He'd missed watching them play consensual  _limb-dismemberment_? He'd have to get the details from Wildrider later.

A dishevelled and scuffed, but grinning Wildrider was soon on screen. "Yo. Sup 'Cade?"

"How far are you from Earth?"

"Missed you too, afthead. Uh. A cycle or so."

Barricade did the maths. "Warpgate I guess?"

"Yup. We picked up Tankor and Astrotrain too." The Stunticon grinned, almost bouncing on the seat. Barricade silently wondered who'd given him boosters. Or if he was simply on a pain high. Or  _both_.

"Have fun with the triplechangers." Barricade did not pity the Stunticons.

"Whatever." He waved his hand in dismissal. "So….. How's the Evac gone?"

Barricade shrugged. "As well as expected. Knock Out had to be shoved onto the ship."

Wildrider cackled. "I'm gonna tell Breakdown. Dragstrip  _owes_  us two hundred credits now. What about 'bane and 'switch?"

"They left over a cycle ago. The slave's with them. He knows his job."  _They are safe._  "Or else we get to play  _what does this do_  again."

"Here I was hoping you'd kept him so we could have a ...private showing."  _Good._

Barricade rolled his optics. "I am on duty  _unlike_  you, Wildrider."  _I am a_ sparkblocker _._

"And? That's never stopped you  _before_ , glitch."  _Spoilsport._

"I'm reporting  _directly_  to Lord Megatron, and I'd rather not have him breathing down my struts because I'm off playing frag-or-death games."  _I value my existence._

Wildrider waved his hands. "Pity. They're hot to watch and you normally don't care, Caders."  _You carrying again?_

Barricade spluttered and Wildrider roared with laughter. "Well?"

"If I was, I'd  _be_  on an Evac ship; we know the slave's not. Planning on jumping my struts next time we meet?" Barricade cracked a smile though, shifting so the energon stains all over him were more noticeable. Wildrider's optics widened then narrowed, smirk crossing his face.

"You been busy."  _Yep._

"Terribly. We head to New Kaon soon. I might grab the slave and join you on Earth for some... Fun."

"Care to share, 'Cade?"

Barricade grinned. It didn't take them long to fall into the familiar banter as he regaled his mate the tale of the 'fight' with the Elite Guard in all its gory detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I love all feedback I get from my readers, be they reviews or questions.  


	13. Aftermath: Ramifications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : Mentions of miscarriage/wishing miscarriage on another, explicitly stated slavery, implied ongoing rape, ongoing abuse. Overt racism. It's a Decepticon chapter.

**(The DJD show up; A sparkling is not!scared and has a very simple view on what it means to be a 'Con; The W.A.P makes an appearance; a Doctor answers questions; Fulcrum is Fulcrum** ; and **a slave's PoV of everything is shown.)**

"Report."

They did not comment on the faint screams coming from the other end. As far as they knew, it was Zeta, likely in pain from whatever their Lord had been doing previously. "The destruction of the  _Iron Breach_  was no accident."

"Who."

"Our preliminary analysis concludes most of the damage matches Black Shadow's known work."

"What of survivors?" Because they  _couldn't_  have  _lost_  a whole Thanatos-class warship laden with Evacuees from Lucifer.

"Seventeen lifepod shuttles with innumerable remains of more. Kaon's scans report two hundred and fifty-eight younglings, three hundred and ninety-seven non-combatants, several handfuls of slaves, and one hundred and twenty-eight warriors." Out of four thousand three hundred and ten in total that had been evac'd from that colony, minus the warriors staying behind to fight the Autobots sent. Likely a full company or two. "Unknown how many Outliers. The other warships have reported in."

"Good." Onscreen, Megatron closed his optics and counted to sixteen, twice, before reopening them. "He would not have worked alone..."

"It's possible. He  _is_  on the same calibre as Warmonger, Deathcobra, Sixshot, and Overlord."

"Tarn..." The Protector-turned-Warlord growled.

"My apologies, my Lord," Tarn said, helm ducked in chastisement.

"Hail the nearest Decepticon ships." Megatron scrubbed his face, and Tarn waited patiently for him to re-gather his thoughts. "In the meantime, take them on board and determine the events leading to the betrayal. Then  _find_  and make an  _example_  of the traitor/s.  _Broadcast it_ , Tarn. We are close to our victory. We shall  _not_  be denied."

Tarn nodded in understanding. They were Decepticons - Warbuilds; but they did not abandon their own at the slightest whim either. Even Tarn knew it was  _counterproductive_  to forging a cohesively working army that carried  _some_  measure of trust in their fellow Unitmembers if nothing else. Even Megatron could not rule if he did not have  _a people_  to rule over, and those they did abandon on the field they would always reclaim if possible at a later date, dead or not.

The dead could be recycled.

"As you command, Lord Megatron," Tarn nodded – careful not to betray his distaste at the thought of sparklings and younglings on  _his_  ship, however brief a period it would be - then switched off the comm. He turned to the rest of his Unit. "Bring those 'pods in and start questioning the survivors - no violence, no threats. Vos, inform Nickel – and ready our jet, too. Kaon, start hailing the nearest lifepods."

His Amica nodded, and Tarn allowed his field to bleed pride as he took up another commstation. If he was going to play host, he would be a  _proper_ ,  _courteous_  host towards his fellow Decepticons. Then have the jet clean the ship from top to bottom after the guests had left, while he and his team sipped highgrade and plotted Death in the most painful way possible.

Idly, he wondered if he could borrow Lobe from one of the Infiltration Units. The more information they took from the traitors, the better, and he  _did_  miss the idea of a mnemosurgon on his team. But that had been the last Kaon, and he liked this one well enough.

* * *

Wreckage would not admit to being scared. No way. He was a brave, fifteen vorn old Decepticon who was  _never_  scared. He was just curled up because there wasn't much room in the lifepod, that was all.  _Really_.

Ok, no. He  _was_  scared. All fifty of them on this lifepod were, but the adults hid it better. He wanted to be like them.

Fleeing from the  _Iron Breach_  had been the most harrowing, terrifying, and frightening experience of his sheltered life. It ranked higher than That One Slave getting free. If it hadn't been for the adults (and the slaves, he couldn't forget the Autobot slaves, but they were under orders, right? Right. Autobot's  _didn't_  care about Decepticons) herding his group of sparklings and younglings into a lifepod, he doubted they'd have escaped the ship which had gone into lockdown on its own.

Seemingly.

He'd heard talk of sabotage. Of bombs going off. Some said young Outliers had panicked. That'd make sense. If a young Outlier panicked, they couldn't control the gift. He was glad he wasn't one; being an Outlier sounded  _terrifying_. He'd heard at least three hundred had been killed before the alarms had sounded. He didn't know why. He didn't want to know why because they were cowards who'd attacked when most Decepticons had been resting.

That was  _wrong_ , wasn't it? Well it had to be; the adults seemed upset by it.

He could  _still_  see the faces as they tore into and killed those that tried to stop them. Stop them from killing family and friends and lovers and Endura and Bonded-

"Ahh-" claws grabbed his helm, trying desperately to  _block out_  the images of those faces. Trying not to let his systems hitch and shudder. He was a Decepticon. He was going to be  _big_  and  _brave_  and  _strong_. Not weak.  _Never weak_.

Those faces... The snarling cruel faces with twisted blue optics in unfriendly faces lit by flashes of gunfire, and once friendly red turned to unfriendly nightterrors and he'd  _seen_  the red face of Autobots on some of them when they  _should have had_  purple-

Wreckage wasn't sure if the Decepticons had been glitched because what sort of warrior would  _do_  that to other Decepticons – what kind of Decepticon would wear Autobrands?- without provocation? It hadn't even been punishment!

Wreckage knew what  _that_  was. Even a twenty orn old sparkling knew what punishment was because if you screwed up and got caught out (that was  _important_.), you got the electrorod, or if you were old enough, the electrowhip. They strung those older still up and then gave both the rod and whip. Well, that was as far as he knew. Sometimes if someone screwed up enough back in Lucifer they were dragged off to the Commander who then dealt with them. The younglings old enough to be trained said it  _wasn't_  anything good.

He didn't know how they punished adults. No-one talked about it where he could hear. Which sucked. He was  _almost_  a youngling.

Maybe the mad Decepticons  _hadn't_  been disciplined enough growing up; that was the  _only_  reason the Warbuild could understand. They hadn't been punished enough and now thought they could get away with doing  _all the big No-Nos_. Or worst yet they were  _Traitors_.

Red optics went wide and he curled up more, hugging his kneels as shudders wracked his frame. Kibble rattled in time with hitching vents. Traitors were  _Very Bad_. He didn't like traitors.

"Wreckage?"

"I'm ok," he said automatically, stifling his whimpers. He was a  _big brave Decepticon_. "I'm not scared, Knock Out. I'm  _never_  scared."

The red mech beside him gave a smile before turning his attention back to soothing the sparkling on his lap.

Lyzack, if Wreckage remembered correctly. She'd been screaming and crying until recently. Her 'Tors had remained behind on Lucifer. She had a brother. She was from the Kayuu sector of Lucifer.

Black Shadow and his goons had come from Lucifer.

His face crinkled. They  _had_  to be traitors and they were horrible and they clearly killed other Decepticons and that wasn't nice. You were  _supposed_  to kill Autobots because they made Decepticons suffer and live in fear. You didn't kill your Unit or other Decepticons without a good reason. That was  _bad_. If you couldn't trust your Unit to have your back when it mattered, then you were  _Doing It Wrong_ , and you didn't turn on your Support crew either because then someone might stuff sand in your energon or worse –  _mud_. Or do  _worse_  than that, but his mind couldn't come up with anything worse than mud in energon. Well, except for that one story he'd heard about an entire bunker of torqued techies.

Torqued techies sounded frightening.

Knock Out's hand fell on his helm and gave it a ruffle while the EM-field said it was going to be ok. Wreckage curled up against the warrior with a not!whimper and peered around, finally noticing all of the older Decepticons were trying to keep the sparklings and younglings calm; even a slave or two was doing their part.

 _Ewww_. He'd  _never_  seek comfort from a slave.

He wanted to back on Lucifer with his agemates playing Auto-Con or oilball or watching the training drills. Or watching younglings and Cadets using condemned prisoners as target practice because that looked like the  _coolest_  thing ever. He'd soon be doing all that in a vorn when his weapons systems were more than just a bunch of  _useless_  kibble like they were  _now_.

He didn't wanna be on the ship. It was scary and almost everyone had wounds of some kind. Basic first aid had been given, but it was only very very basic.

Units had been torn apart. Friends lost. Family lost. Lovers lost. Bondmates lost and that had been scary because he'd seen several just  _Suicide-Run_  into the fighting without care for who was enemy and who wasn't. He didn't understand  _why_  this had happened. There had to be a reason, even a  _stupid_  one. A reason was a reason was a reason but a reason  _wouldn't_  bring back the dead.

A few of the warriors in his lifepod had lost sparklings. He'd heard them screaming, crying, pleading with the Allspark and Primus and the Matrix and clawing at their chestplates. He didn't know losing a sparkling  _hurt_  that much. He cast a baleful look in one of the slave's direction.  _How come_  the slave hadn't lost its?

It  _wasn't_  fair. It  _didn't_  deserve to keep its sparkling when good loyal Decepticons had lost theirs.

At least Knock Out had kept his, even if he kept rubbing his sparkplates.

He curled up more, biting his lip plate. He wasn't scared,  _he wasn't scared_!

"Don't worry."

"I'm not!"

The Doctor raised an optic arch but said nothing about the obvious lie. "They won't just abandon us."

"Because Decepticons stick together!" Wreckage preened at the nod he got and with a warrior's approval, it was easier to pretend he wasn't scared. It helped to focus on things he'd learned. Ok, had beaten into him via electrorod beatings on the hands.

Decepticons stuck together; they had to or they  _never_  go Home. All the adults seemed to think so to because when Orders to Evac had come they'd moved in sync without arguments and he knew many of the Units were  _infamous_  for trying to beat the slag out of each other, while the Colony's third-in-charge had rounded up the warriors that could fight. All the while talking to someone in another Colony and organizing something. He didn't know what the Commander or the Second did but it was probably lots of things to do with the ship.

Probably.

It'd been awesome to watch everyone until his sire had herded him away and that wasn't  _fair_. He'd wanted to stay and watch her in action. She was  _lethal_  and  _graceful_  and she had the best weapons  _ever_  because electromaces screamed awesome and fun and you fought up close and he wanted to fight up close.

He was looking forward to the megacycle he too would be amongst such well trained and disciplined troops, working to help the Decepticons rise up against the oppression of the Autobots and retake Cybertron for the Lord Protector-

The lifepod's comm blee-beeped.

He might have squealed, but almost everyone else had too, so  _he_  wasn't a jumpy frightened scaredy-con.

_"Good news."_

And then all the adults and older younglings seemed to sit up straight (or cringe down and down if you were a slave, and Wreckage snickered softly) as a face  _wearing_  the Decepticon symbol appeared. Wreckage blinked, not understanding the importance but old enough to know  _something_  was up.  _"We caught your distress beacons and the lifepods will be docked or linked to our ship while we await the nearest transport arrivals."_

"How many are left, Sir?" Grindcore asked nervously. His hashtags placed him as the highest ranked officer in the 'pod.

 _"We counted seventeen lifepods. You are the third I have_ personally _contacted."_

"But more should have escaped! I saw them launch!" Knock Out's hand fell heavily on his helm and Wreckage cringed down a bit. The warning was clear: Shut up, pay attention, and you might learn something.

 _"Unfortunately, Black Shadow-"_  A collective hiss of anger and priming weapon systems rippled through the lifepod and the speaker seemed to wait for them all to calm - _"was rather_ thorough _in his quest to destroy you all. Only those that cloaked survived. We would like to speak with anyone who can provide details of the attack."_  Murmurs of I can, I will, I saw things filtered up, and Wreckage added his voice to them. The Decpti-face seemed pleased.  _"Excellent. Our doctor and general medical are on standby to assist in the treatment of any injured."_

"You shall have our full cooperation in thanks for the timely rescue." Grindcore said with a salute.

The commlinks clicked off. Grindcore turned to the rest of the pod. "You  _will_  give them your  _full_  cooperation. Do  _not_  make nuances of yourselves lest you be... detained. Cadets, consider this  _advanced_  military training."

"Yes, Sir," the Cadets responded with salutes and nods.

"Why?" A sparkling near Wreckage spoke up as it peered over the knees of the adult. Wreckage thought it was probably about eight vorns. Still a tiny thing.

"That was  _Tarn_  of the  _Decepticon Justice Division_. He answers  _directly_  to Lord Megatron and he has an electrorod just for disobedient sparklings." Grindcore grinned wickedly as those under sixteen vorns made to hide behind the nearest adult, wide optics staring at him. "So be good and you won't lose the plating off your hands and backs."

Wreckage decided then and there that he was staying as close as possible to Knock Out, and peering around the red carmech, two others had the same idea.

"What are your names?" he asked softly.

"Aimless," the older said. "Don't let the name fool you. I can aim good."

"I'm Bombshell," the younger said, optics lighter than they had any right to be, but Wreckage ignored it. It was shock, he thought. It had to be.

Because Outliers didn't manifest until they were younglings. Everyone knew  _that_.

* * *

Misfire practically fell off his chair when the face popped up on the comuniconsole. No, scratch that, he did, and when he finally scrambled up, the face was smirking. Misfire's wings twitched, but he held his glossa. Torquing this mecha off was so very much  _not_  a good idea. "Yessir?"

_"A word with Krok if you would be so kind."_

"O-One klik."

Misfire did not flee from the bridge to the rec-room, nor did he skid into it. It was a  _graceful_  exit and entry. "Krok, comm for you."

Krok turned his attention away from the game of jenga. "Who?"

" _Them_." Misfire squeaked, wings almost flush against his armour. "You know, Pinhead's  _actual_  Unit."

Krok sighed, stood, motioned for Fulcrum to follow him. He didn't know why they'd hail them, but it was never a bad idea to have Fulcrum around, just in case. Once Fulcrum had extracted himself from between Flywheels and Crankcase, Krok squared his shoulders and marched himself to the bridge of the ship, doing his level best not flinch at the sight of Kaon's face lighting up the screen. He was  _not_  drunk enough for this. "Kaon."

 _"Krok."_  Kaon inclined his head.  _"How many can the W.A.P safely carry? We have a... situation."_  Kaon was pleasantly no-nonsense and Fulcrum swore his plating crawled at the tone. This Kaon Unhappy was never a good thing. Scratch that. Unhappy DJD was always a  _bad_  thing.

He still had nightmares over it.

Krok blinked. "Safely? Another forty-five, maybe fifty-five if we push it. May I ask what this is about?"

 _"One of the Thanatos-class pressed into Evac was destroyed on route to New Kaon. We have some survivors. Meet us here."_  A set of coordinates flashed up on the screen.  _"_ Don't _be late."_

"Understood." Krok saluted, letting out a shaky exvent once the comm-system was dark. He may have, technically, a higher rank, yet... Ngg. He needed a drink. "Put this into the navi-systems and have Crankcase prep for hyperspace."

"Is it too late to say we were  _never_  here?" Misfire ventured from the doorway, wings folding down at the  _Looks_  the pair gave him.

" _Yes_ ," Fulcrum answered flatly.

* * *

Knock Out stepped lightly onto the ship, one of the last off the lifepod, even if was only temporary. He was mindful of the two sparklings and one youngling following him, and the tiny one in his arms. They served a reasonable distraction from the scratches to his bodywork and pain in his spark. He kept his field even, calm. Placid yet confident, even as his spark hitched and lurched at the sight of the looming figure of Tesarus, who was doing nothing more than directing survivors down towards recreation.

At least he wasn't the only one almost jumping out of their frame. Most of the adults and some of the younglings were having similar reactions.

"Stay close." He muttered to the trio, nodding respectfully as they passed; he couldn't exactly salute with a vorn old Lyzack in his arms. He didn't look back, but the twitch of a smirk from Tesarus indicated the children had copied him.

 _Good,_  Knock Out thought.  _The better behaved they were, the less trouble for everyone; they could be kids later. Not here._ Never _here._

The Rec-room was almost overcrowded and Knock Out estimated there was at least eighty mechs, even with medical personnel moving from patient to patient. Knock Out exvented, well aware of the trio looking up to him – looking to the adults to dictate  _how_  they should behave in this situation. It was comforting.

It was mildly terrifying and disconcerting, but it'd happened, and a quick look around showed he wasn't the only one feeling daunted at Suddenly Role Model.

With a silent sigh, the Doctor made himself comfortable in the first free seat he found, allowing the three to seek comfort, his finish and paint job be damned. It wouldn't be fixed until they reached New Kaon and he  _would_  live until then. The tiny systems hitched as 'fields once held close and tight opened against the relative safety of his own.

Knock Out grit his denta at the waves of shock emanating from them, and he hoped they still had some of the slaves that'd turned on them. He'd like to disassemble one  _personally_. Warbuild programming and propaganda be damned, but one did not simply drop mechanoids into sudden terror and firefights and expect them to be  _fine_.

Rare as it was, shellshock  _did_  affect them. It was why they trained from a young age. It helped mitigate it somewhat.

A shadow fell over him. Knock Out looked up and promptly reset his optics.

"Doctor."

"Lord Tarn." Knock Out saluted, careful not to jostle Lyzack or the trio too much. The trio had scooted closer, the youngest hiding his head against him, tiny wings twitching with fear. Knock Out turned his attention to Tarn as the other crouched. He was still bigger, still stronger. Somewhat less intimidating now. "How may I be of use?"

"Tell me what you know." Tarn said without preamble, pointedly ignoring the young that clung to the good doctor.

"As you well know by now, it was the work of a group led by  _Black Shadow_." And he  _knew_  Tarn knew damn well just that. Knock Out himself had been paying attention to the chatter in the lifepod.

"I'd like to hear from you, Doctor." Tarn said, idly reaching out to touch Lyzack's helm before clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. If Tarn noticed the flinch, he didn't comment on it. "I've heard some of the young screamed for an entire cycle..."

Knock Out shoved all emotion out of his field. No need to give the leader of the DJD any more fuel to use against him; as hospitable as they were being, they were  _the fragging DJD_. They  _preyed_  on weakness. "I'd finished with a carrier's check-over when I heard the first of the shouts and weapon fire shortly before the alarms blared. I had a look out, and well. I'm a  _Doctor_. Of course I attempted to join the fray. I don't know what happened to the carrier. We were pushed back; someone had freed a number of the slaves and given them weapons."

"One of our own?"

"No," Knock Out shock his helm. "Defectors we'd thought  _genuine_  turned against us. Dare I say it but I think they were in the league of Black Shadow and, ased on the level of confusion permeating our comms, I'd say he had maybe several Units under him. I don't know when I found Lyzack. I killed the one who was about to kill her. I couldn't save her guardian."

Tarn nodded. "Did you see any faces?"

"Yes. A number before the Cadets started breaking ranks as superiors fell. They were aiming for doubletap kills." He sighed, rubbing his chest, even as Tarn's hand dug in, the tank wordlessly pressing for more information. "If you give me a datapad I'll upload all image captures."

Tarn unsubbed a datapad, handing it to Knock Out, who dutifully plugged himself into it and started the image-dump.

"I-I saw faces too, Sir. C-can I put them on the datapad too?" At Tarn's nod, Wreckage plugged in a cable. "And – Outliers. It was –It was really scary."

"Outliers?"

Knock Out's face blanked. "Once the Cadets started to panic, the Outliers and Support-class followed. I saw a number  _freeze_  in fear or forget how to shoot."

Reasons he hated Support-class in a firefight.

Behind the mask, Tarn's optics narrowed in anger, and Knock Out flinched, ignoring the trio for now. One did not admit to freezing in a fight. "I believe they  _died_ , my Lord. It was all we could do to get out in one piece as the ship slowly imploded around us. I was halfway to the lifepods when Lyzack and several others started screaming. Then things turned  _strange_."

"Explain."

"What's there to explain, my lord. They screamed and it seemed as the ship  _itself_  was attempting to herd survivors to us and deposit my group safely at a lifepod." Knock Out shrugged awkwardly. "How else do you explain that? Though... It is interesting."

"What is?" Tarn took the datapad back when both survivors were done.

"When she was screaming, Lyzack's optics brightened to pure-white."

Tarn looked down at the recharging sparkling. Humming slightly, he stood, 'field devoid of any tells as to his thoughts or emotions. "Have her seen to when you reach New Kaon."

"Yes, Sir."

"She'll be OK," Bombshell said once Tarn was gone.

Knock Out blinked, but the question died in his vocaliser at the sight of the sparkling's pale-red optics.

"But you're only  _three vorn_..." This... This  _wasn't_  good.

* * *

Fulcrum had just finished resetting the  _W.A.P_ 's navi-systems when a shadow fell over him. Looking up, his vocaliser made a funny sort of clicking before a burst of static escaped him and he stood up so fast that he banged his head on the inside of the console. Instinctively the techie backed away and held his hands up, trying to make himself appear as non-threatening as a possible. This was more do-able than say Misfire or something because his frame was lighter and less bulky than his current Unitmates.

The Ninja only chuckled, optics dancing with ill-hidden delight. Fulcrum dry-swallowed. He'd semi-forgotten how cruel he could be. "Yes, Vos?"

A datapad was held out. Several kliks passed before the gunformer's optics narrowed.

"Ah – O-Of course." Right, he was supposed to take that and...

Slender fingers closed over a wrist with a deceptively light grip. Fulcrum knew better than to pull away though, even if he jumped a foot or so into the air and let out another static sound. Vos seemed to study him – more like pick him apart - before the Ninja pulled him close enough to hear a whisper, the pronunciation terrible of course. "Survivor data."

And then Fulcrum was shoved away, and the sadist seemed to smirk before heading back to the  _Peaceful Tyranny_.

"Fulcrum! You al.. er." Crankcase paused, unsure of what to do as that was their techie that someone other than them had gotten handsy with, but on the other hand – Fulcrum looked like he'd seen a shade or something and there were a handful of living mechs that could induce that in him. Cranckcase swallowed before venturing, "Fulcrum?"

"I'm – ah – OK. I think." No, no he wasn't OK but he wasn't admitting that.

Crankcase didn't buy it. "You look like you saw a shade."

"Uh – ah. It was nothing," he waved a hand. Just a reminder of what Unit he – and several other support-personnel - had been attached to during the Great Wars; that he was still technically attached to. He could be recalled by them if they wished for any reason.

The closing of the airlock - signifying the docking shoot's disengagement - dragged him out of his thoughts. "Anyway, we're good to go. Route's been plotted into it."

Crankcase side-eyed him. "Right. I'll let Krok know."

He nodded absentmindedly as the combat-class headed off, looking at the datapad in hand then mentally groaned.

Mundane data collection on the survivors. Not his favourite thing in the world, but right now, he'd take anything that would steer him from the battle of Styx and  _what_  he'd seen there. Of what he  _knew_  Vos to be capable of. That scare? Had been nothing.

Nothing good ever came of those memories, and while they wouldn't begrudge him, waking the Unit up with a stasismare wasn't high on his to-do-list.

At least Spinister'd stopped trying to shoot him when that happened.

* * *

Escaping the  _Iron Breach_  was not an experience the slave wanted to repeat. Ever. Trying to  _literally_  drag Earthbane away from the fight - away from the rest of her Cadet Unit - had been an experience he  _never_  wanted to do again, either. As far as they knew, she was the only survivor. His mistress had, of course, blamed him and used the shock collar.

His neck was a charred mess of pain and his struts  _hurt_.

But compared to  _what_  Barricade and Wildrider would have  _done_  had anything happened to their eldest creation, what  _Barricade_  would have done if Bladeswitch had been more harmed, the slave would take the shock collar, taunts, screams, and kicks over a painful deactivation that would have lasted megacycles.

He was glad for Dino though, the Decepticon had made following orders easier. But he couldn't deny Dino looked  _and_  sounded vaguely familiar. More so when he'd been questioned- asked by the DJD as to what had happened.

Of course, in the process of getting his young mistresses to safety ( _no-one_  else, though he could have tried, but he  _didn't_. He didn't want to and his orders had been to keep  _them_  safe, not anyone else), they had been hurt - Earthbane accidentally shooting her sister in the leg with a handgun; Dino had been hurt defending them all (Odd, but he wasn't going to question it). It was  _no_  fault of his own, and they had been treated by one of the DJD's medics already. The medic had even treated  _him_ , as basic as it was.

The Autobot felt sorry for the jet, but there was little anyone could do to help a fellow prisoner. Especially not a pet - that was what the collar meant, unless it was a modified slave collar. In most slaves' optics that indicated some willing acceptance of the situation. It was disgusting. Who in their right mind would want to be a Decepticon pet? Not him, that was for sure.

At least he'd been overlooked; a well behaved slave, easily under the thumb of his mistress. Like everyone else, Earthbane had added in her version of events. The coherent picture he'd built had been horrifying, yet rewarding.

Autobots had infiltrated. Some slaves had been freed and armed. Black Shadow and a group had worked with them. A lot had died before the alarms had sounded. Then they'd taken out the fleeing Decepticons and a warship. But he didn't know if it was planned or not. Rumour said it had been. The slave liked to think this was  _at least_  somewhat true. He only lamented he wasn't amongst the dead. That he hadn't been freed. He would have taken out a number before going down.

At least now they were off the  _Peaceful Tyranny_  and on the way to New Kaon. If he was good enough, perhaps when Barricade joined them, he'd get to stretch his t-cog. Forget for a while he wasn't free.

The Autobot liked the crew well enough, for Decepticons. They made sure everyone was fuelled and comfortable. The slave didn't think he'd be comfortable for a while, but he  _could_  appreciate the efforts.

"Designations, ages, pronouns of choice, ranks."

"Earthbane, 36 vorns, she, Cadet. That's Bladeswitch. She's only thirteen orns. The slave belongs to my creators. Dunno how long they've had it, but longer than me. Maybe some megavorns?"

The once Autobot blinked - of course. She had no idea this wasn't the first time he'd been in Barricade's clutches. He couldn't protest being addressed as 'it' even if he wanted to. Barricade had long ago taken his voice. Anyway, it didn't matter. He knew what he was in his mistress's optics. Property.  _A thing_.

He'd been so for almost two megavorns before she'd been protoformed.

"It's function?"

A shrug. "Nanny, stressball, fragtoy. Blue's whatever my 'Tor's want."

'Blue' winced to the choice of words, ducking his helm to hide the hatred in his optics. Hatred of his situation in life, of what had been -  _was_  - done to him. He was no more a fragtoy than he was a stressball or a nanny. He was something to be used and abused until it broke, or his masters grew bored of him and literally scrapped him.

"Fragtoy?" The techie blinked. "What's a fragtoy doing-"

" _It's_  looking after my sister and it  _failed_  to keep any of  _my Unit_  alive."

The slave flinched at the almighty kick, hunching down protectively around the younger of his two mistresses. Thankfully, she didn't wake. He didn't have to look at the mismatched optics. Didn't have to worry about her starting to scream again.

"Fragtoy how, if I can ask."

"The normal, you know, the one that makes them  _scream_  the most," Earthbane giggled, tapping her sparkplates. "'Tor likes to frag it often. It carried 'Switch, and Sire was really happy. So was Dam. It's his first he sired."

Blue stiffened, optics widening in silent horror as the techie looked at him, then shrugged.

"I see." The techie nodded, not even batting an optic at the youngling's words. "She'll get our optics."

" _Of course_  she will. She's  _not_  filth. She's  _better_  than that. I'm hoping she'll be a tank like me and like Dam's 'Tor was."

The slave wanted to scream. Of course Bladeswitch was  _filth_ ; she was a perverse thing, like his first by Barricade had been so long ago. But that thing was dead. It ran away before it'd even reached a megavorn and a half and Barricade had no idea about it. It was likely dead.

Yet his spark still ached for it - her. Novastream. He could have done  _better_ , could have  _stopped_  the abuse, given her the proper care she needed. But he didn't, hadn't; he'd helped it along by doing nothing. It haunted him sometimes. He blamed the Decepticons,  _blamed_  her,  _blamed_  the mech that had raped him –  _still_  raped him; they were  _all_  at fault. There was something so inherently wrong about Spark-to-Spark interfacing. It made – made  _perversions_  of the natural order of how their race was supposed to be made.

It was – and would always be disgusting enough that 'Blue' couldn't find the words for it, even in his own mind. Worse still, they thought it OK to  _allow_  their young to talk about  _It_ , to see  _It_. To say nothing of the way the Decepticons seemed to do it anywhere and everywhere - and he assumed they did it while on duty too, the disgusting perverts.

"You have the codes?"

The question snapped him out of the inner monologue, and 'Blue' cringed down while the techie snickered.

"Uh huh. 'Tor made me memorise them and I've already used the shock one. That was  _fun_." Earthbane's voice was smug.

"Good. Who are your creators?"

"Barricade and Wildrider." Earthbane smirked at the startled look, and Blue didn't blame the techie. Barricade alone was high enough to raise opticridges. Add in Wildrider, and she was a 'Command-Brat'. "Why's a techie like you with warriors? I thought your kind  _lived_  in bunkers or something because you're allergic to fighting."

"Ah. I'm their on-site support-personnel. We don't see much fighting," Fulcrum beamed.

"Oh." Earthbane made a face. "That's boring."

No. it was a good thing. The Autobot refrained from making a face though, keeping his optics on the ground.

Neither Decepticon seemed to notice, and the little one in his arms was deep in recharge, tiny claws gripping him. The thing had cried herself to sleep once they'd gotten off the  _Iron Breach._

Itself. He wasn't going to get attached. He didn't get attached to his first, he wouldn't get attached to this one. Anyway, it was Wildrider's. For all he carried it, it'd know Wildrider as its Dam.

"If you say so."

" _Of course_  I do. If you techies could fight better, we  _wouldn't_  have lost so many to that  _traitor,_ " Earthbane all but snarled, pain and anger needing a target.

"I heard Black Shadow was a  _Phase-Sixer_. That he had  _help_." Fulcrum deadpanned. "Not much we can do against  _them_."

"If we'd worked  _together_  instead of panicking when our Superiors went down-" His mistress shook, vents rattling in visible distress yet Blue didn't dare touch her; he didn't want to be punished for overstepping his bounds. "We'd have  _won_ ; killed him like the traitor he is, and they wouldn't have died,  _right_? We had Outliers-"

'Blue' knew from bitter experience she was on the edge of a tantrum. Yet Fulcrum only sighed, patting her shoulder. "... Yes. That's correct, Earthbane." 'Blue' had the feeling Fulcrum'd done this a few times already. "One last question: Weapon's integration?"

"Uh..."

Fulcrum's mouth set in a line.

Earthbane wilted. "I- I still shoot myself in the foot and miss my targets half the time?"

Fulcrum facepalmed and 'Blue' giggled soundlessly. He couldn't blame the Decepticon. Between his mistress and the others still undergoing weapons integration, it would be a  _minefield_  if they had to defend themselves again. 'Blue' would not deny he was looking forward it, if it happened. A stray shot might put him out of his misery. Fulcrum scrubbed his face. "Right. Well. If we get attacked, leave the shooting to the warriors."

"Yea, fine," Earthbane huffed.

The techie nodded, fiddled with his datapad then moved onto the next mech while Earthbane simply settled back against her Autobot nanny, a scowl on her face as she glared at nothing, EM-field clamped close, as if to prevent the hurt and fear from being read. "You  _could_  have saved them – him ...  _Stupid thing_."

He wouldn't have saved them even if he could. One less Decepticon in the world was a  _good_  thing.

Unbidden, his optics tracked to Dino, the blue-and-white moving amongst the rest with ease. He moved like he'd come from Iacon's Highest Towers. All regal grace and poise as he checked on them.  _With care_ , Blue belatedly realised,  _care that seemed out of place_. Distantly, he knew the shock of the surprise attack and the betrayals would affect the 'Cons too, that sparkling and younglings had witnessed it.

He tried not to think about it.

They were Warbuilds. Battle, fighting, war was what they were  _made_  for. They were only shocked because it happened unexpectedly.

Everyone knew  _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any comments/concrit you might have, and if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them.


	14. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirge and Megatron have a talk; Rattletrap would like to purge now; Oh look a Wasp; Arcee meets someone she shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write when it came to Megatron. I said he had his reasons, but I never said they were good reasons. So the first Clone to start getting her own personality is Dirge.

**(Of Plot Points ahoy.)**

"Ohhh~ that was  _fun_. Can we do it again?"

"Yes, yes, it was a  _brilliant_  plan," Sunstorm coo'd as he and Blitzwing pushed the first of several carts laden with all sort of metals into the main chamber of the Decepticon's current base. "Almost as worthy as our  _glorious leader_ 's own plans. Surely, someday, you shall be blessed with a command of your own, if our Leader sees fit, of course."

Oh, how fortuitous. They were  _back_. Megatron could already feel the building processor ache. The growl escaped as an irritated sigh, two fingers pressed against the edge of his optic as if to ward it off.

"Oh do shut up. All  _you_  did was punt the bug into the water, while  _he_  froze it," one of the Starscream's voices came, further back in the gaggle of mecha. If memory served, it was Dirge. The femme's voice was shrill, high and if Megatron was correct, almost at her wit's end. Perhaps it hadn't been such a wise move to send all six Starscreams on the mission, yet they  _required_  the metals if they were to warp-limp back to Charr  _within_  the orn.

Oh. He could take the Key and the 'child' known as Sari, but, assuming his predictions and scans of the creature were  _true_ , it was a Tecron; one without its final form. Hopefully still unbound to any of its unwitting protectors and not yet forging the start of a bond. If it was, it would be a moot point as he needed the creature's  _trust_  to bond to it, unlike a typical Minicon.

Not for the first time he wondered about the quirk. It was  _thoroughly_  inconvenient, yet, he supposed, given the  _power_  they contained. Nnn. He knew of two other Tecrons; one bound to 'X' (and how  _that_  happened, X refused to say), the other bound to Depthcharge.

"Yes, unlike  _my_  brilliant attack that would have put him in the smelter had  _you_  not interfered like the two-bit you are!" Thundercracker snarled, coming close on their heels. The one hunched was likely Skywarp, the Seeker silently pushing his own cart.

Megatron's mouth curved up in a smile. At least one of them was silent. Fear, yes, but it was one less processor ache.  _Why_  his Lord of the Skies had decided it was a  _good idea_  to clone  _himself_ , Megatron would never know.

"And such a brilliant attack that it succeeded. Your  _brilliance_  outshines Dirge's," Ramjet sneered, wings twitching as his 'field emanated disbelief. "Truly you are the most commendable mech."

"I'm so glad an eight-bit thing like you  _finally_  noticed," Thundercracker preened, wings somehow higher than they had any right to be while Skywarp sunk down, wings at a harsh downward angle. He must have muttered something, as Thundercracker dug claws into a wing, drawing a harsh yelp from the now purple clone.

"I  _never_  said that!" Ramjet shot back, optics wide, scandalised – and completely ignoring Skywarp's wails. "Never never never!"

"Oh mute it, you glitch sucking scrapheap of  _a liar_ ," Starscream's snarl was backed with turbines as he came into view, wings unnaturally still as what of his 'field could be felt was frazzled worse than Megatron had  _ever_  seen it. The Prince pointedly refused to look at Megatron as he shoved his cart into the centre of the room, heading for the collected pile of metal and parts. Megatron's engine ticked over in amusement; was the Prince  _still_  sore about their last chat?

"Lugnut," Starscream started, pointing to the fanatical brutish bomber as he made his way in, "could have done  _better_  than some four-bit clones.  _Blitzwing_  did better than you, and  _he's_  insane."

"I dare you zay zat to my face-" Blitzwing – Hothead – bellowed. His face changed to Icy. "Now now. Zere is no need for name calling, Starscream. We could say ze same for you. Ja.  _You_  gave them  _bodies_!-"

"Not on purpose-" Starscream snarled, nullray snapping up in threat as he whirled on Blitzwing -Random-, wings  _still_  unnaturally still.

"But you did, and it is only by the glory of our master they live-" Lugnut started.

"He's  _not_  my master-" Starscream hissed, wings finally moving as they snapped up, almost vertical. Yet without a true 'field reading, it could mean  _anything_.

"You lie-" Lugnut started again, only to find himself shot by a nullray as Starscream's thinning patience snapped. That seemed to set Hothead off, who took several potshots at the magenta seeker. Thundercracker turned, firing off several blasts of his own while Skywarp cowered, nullrays raised, behind his Trinemate. Ramjet and Sunstorm pressed themselves out of the way, optics wide.

"I started it!" Ramjet said, hands in the air as he desperately tried to keep  _out_  of the firefight, while Sunstorm heaped praise on  _everyone_.

Megatron stood, charged his fusion cannon as he aimed into the centre of the rabble-

" ** _ENOUGH_**." Dirge's shriek was backed up by a high-pitched whine of turbines. It cut through the cacophony of arguing voices, silencing them at last. Hands on hips, wings dominantly high, she continued on, voice laced with high-pitched turbine and jet-engine sounds. "If you  _brilliant_  sparklings haven't noticed, Lord Megatron is three nanokliks from  _shooting you all_. Put the carts there, and start sorting.  _Before_  Nightbird and Sonar return."

It was almost comical how the five Seeker mechs responded. Skywarp skittered his cart over to the pile, Thundercracker stalking after his Trinemate. Starscream stalked after  _them_ , wings twitching obscenely rude things that had Dirge's claws twitching. He kicked his cart over in a royal huff, face awash with murderous intent while Skywarp looked frantically between Dirge and his Trineleader, yelping when Starscream thrust an armful of metal at him with a snarled 'Sort it.'. Ramjet made his way over with his cart while claiming he wasn't going to help. Sunstorm ambled over, singing Dirge praises at her brilliant handling of everything, while somehow managing to accidentally upend his cart onto Starscream's pile, smiling winningly at the frustrated Prince while Dirge tried not to laugh.

Megatron settled back with an open smirk and an idle scratch of his sparkplates. He'd finished with his toy half a cycle ago, frustrations vented, for now, upon the wretched False-Prime. Yet it seemed he had missed some…  _interesting_  developments on the last mission.

Hmmm.

"Lugnut, Blitzwing." Megatron turned his attention to his lieutenants, beckoning them forward. "Dare I ask what I missed?"

"Dirge iz rather effective at corralling ze rest of them. Starscream in particular," Blitzwing said.

"She drove him into the side of a building, Lord Megatron, for daring to complain about manual labour."

"I see. And the Autobot you encountered?"

"He iz swimming with ze fishies as they say~" Random cackled. Megatron nodded, knowing the Autobots would fish him out soon enough, provided it was alive. The Autobot likely was; they did make interesting diversions to an otherwise endless monotony of supply gathering.

"Full reports later. Go. Motormaster will be landing soon. See to it they arrive  _safely_." A wave of his hand dismissed the pair, though he could have done  _without_  Blitzwing skipping out of view, singing some horrid rendition of a Kalisan love ballad.

He watched them go with another scratch of sparkplates. Megatron frowned. Matrix Lost, he hoped he hadn't caught a virus from Zeta. That would put a crimp in his megacycle, and Mixmaster was  _barely_  passable as an EMT, let alone anywhere near proficient in decoding viruses. No matter. He'd soon have a Doctor and true-EMT planetside when Motormaster's group arrived. For now, he had other things to occupy himself with. Such as Seekers. And who better to question about them than the newest Matria to grace his troops. "Dirge."

The female looked up from where she was supervising the rest of her mechs as they sorted metal, occasionally prodding one back to work. It wasn't particularly hard, but it was tedious and almost mind-numbing boring. Predictably, Starscream now stood apart, wings hiked defensively, 'field snapping closed as soon as Megatron even looked at him. Dirge frowned, optics narrow, but didn't say a word. "Yes, Lord Megatron?"

"Walk with me." Standing, the Warlord gestured for the Matria to follow him out into the mine shafts, away from the central hub of mindless work.

Once they were a suitable distance, he spoke again. "You do not seem like the rest."

She stared at him. "So. You  _finally_  noticed, did you."

"Since you bore your spark, Dirge." He'd had his suspicions; she had proven them.

"About  _time_  you joined the party. I'm  _not_  quite a clone. We  _have_  sparks-"

Megatron grunted in agreement. "From the Allspark shards."

She nodded. "Fully  _Leitandi_  sparks, as you know."

The Protector raised an optic ridge, both at her and a term he knew well of, but hadn't expected Starscream to teach the clones. Hmmm. "As I know?"

"Do not assume me a fool, Lord Protector." Dirge said, optics narrowed, 'field flush against plating, and Megatron belatedly realised she'd deliberately made herself unreadable.

He had lost his touch with Seekers; or perhaps he was not as adept at reading Seeker Matria as he thought.

"My mistake. I am aware of a great number of things." Not as much as he  _should_  have been, but Soundwave was dead, and the creature that called itself Sound Wave was nowhere to be found. Dead perhaps, yet Megatron doubted it. He'd find it – a useful task to keep the Stunticons from causing too much of a ruckus before he desired it. Perhaps there was  _some_  reason it'd chosen the name it had.

Dirge turned to him, optics sharp. "You have  _Leitandi_  loyal to  _you_  in Starscream's ranks."

Megatron didn't deny it, though he did wonder how she knew. "What will you do about it, Matria?"

"I can do nothing. You're entitled to it. You  _chained_  him to a Cause he now hates." Dirge flapped a hand, as if what he'd done was obvious.

Megatron was amused by her daring. "I wouldn't call it Chaining… "

"Oh, so those promises you gave mean nothing? The fact we  _require_  you and yours to retake and hold  _Leitaað_  and her lands means nothing?" Dirge shook her head, ignoring Megatron's spluttered protests they weren't nothing. "What is it you  _want_? I'm still trying to  _fix_  the damage you've done, Lord Protector. My Sky-Lord is  _not_  a toy."

Megatron's optics narrowed in thought. She was smarter than he gave her credit for. Sharper in wit and intellect, equal to Starscream at his height before- and she seemed to have a grasp on the race's history if she was using  _that_  name for Vos. Perhaps he could use her. "How long will he remain… manageable?"

Dirge snarled, claws twisting, but she didn't strike him. She was young, yet no simpleton. Attacking Megatron would gain her nothing but a swift and painful death. "Tell me,  _why_  do you think he challenges you?"

She didn't rise to his bait like Starscream would have. Interesting. "So you have Bound him-"

"No. But I  _know enough_  of his processor because I  _am_  part of him." Technically speaking, and they both knew it. "Answer my question."

Megatron sighed, but he could not deny her the right to know. Seekers were oh-so-temperamental and he had a feeling she'd find out; if not from him, then Starscream, or another. "To usurp my position as Decepticon Leader."

"Wrong." She shook her finger at him, hand on hip as she stared defiantly up at him, daring Megatron to protest. "If you want our support after we retake Cybertron, you should start treating him better."

"The Lords of the Skies have always been  _unquestioningly_  loyal to the Protectors. Why would it change now?" As far as he knew, and Megatron wasn't sure he liked the glint in Dirge's optics. He could slag her here-and-now, break Starscream's tenuous hold on sanity once and for all. A fitting payment for all the murder attempts and treachery. He did not  _need_  the Sky-Lord sane to control the Seekers. Megatron ignored the unease in his spark those thoughts brought forth.

Starscream was a  _Decepticon_ , first and foremost. A treacherous one that had  _repeatedly_  attempted to kill him. He was only alive because he was the only survivor of Windsheer's Heirs and without an Heir himself. Nothing more.

"Oh, I don't know. You broke his Harem, broke his Trine."

" _It was war_ ," Megatron protested; what in the pit did  _that_  have anything to do with it? Would that Soundwave was still alive...

" _You_  still gave the orders that saw them ultimately  _die_  at the hands of Autobot fliers." Dirge's smile was diamond sharp as she tapped her helm, and continued on without a care. "Abused his spark on more than two occasions. Pushed him to breaking point. You treat him as an  _inferior_ , not an equal like he  _should be_. Is it any  _wonder_  he hates you?" Dirge's words were simple. Plain. She did not raise her voice, and her 'field and posture showed she was utterly unafraid of Megatron or that he might find her words treason. "What did you  _think_  would happen?"

Megatron found it all so oddly amusing. She was a Seeker, and he was a Warbuild. She owed little allegiance to him, but everything to Starscream. Yet he was the Lord Protector, and she was daring to  _lecture him_  with knowledge she should not have? "How –you are a mere clone."

"It's called the Allspark," Dirge stared at him like he was some particularly dumb sparkling. "Face it, Lord Protector, you're driving  _without_  brakes." She smiled, utterly fearless in the face of the raised fusion cannon.

Megatron's amusement faded and the cannon glowed. Her optics widened and the female scrambled away, wings folded down, hands outstretched, trembling. Respect, compliance, submission. An apology rippled through her 'field. She knew she'd overstepped her place –  _drastically_.

Megatron stared down at the bowed female, then slowly lowered the cannon. He  _had_  a use for her still. "Apology accepted."

"Many thanks, Lord Protector." It did not stop the tremble in her wings or voice, yet unlike Starscream, he didn't detect a hint of resentment. Perhaps there was more to her than he knew. "A question, my Lord, if I may?"

An opticridge raised. He decided to humour her. "Ask."

"Why haven't you taken Optimus yet? He'd be a  _Prime_."

How she knew  _those_  glyphs did not matter. Optimus was  _not_  his Prime, nor a  _Prime_. His  _Prime_  was  _dead_ , no matter what his blasted Spark told him. "I am not finished with Zeta."

"There must be a  _Prime_ -" She cut herself off, glancing nervously at the half-raised fusion cannon, then at Megatron's impassively calm face. She squeaked. "I – Forgive me."

" _Leave_." He demanded. He half expected a fight and an excuse to rend her wings, but the Seeker bowed, and backed out – not quite fleeing yet it was close. Megatron stood for a time, lost in his thoughts as he dared ponder her words, interrupted only once by Starscream's shrill ' _YOU DID_ _ **WHAT**_ _?_ ' carrying through the tunnels. His Spark pulsed, whispered. His Sky-Lord was needed  _sane_. He'd find his  _Prime_. Red-gold-flames, it said. Megatron dismissed it as heresy.

He'd functioned without a  _Prime_  most of his life - and his  _Prime_  was white-navy! His Lord of the Skies teetered on insanity. The Imperial Guard was missing; Dead?

 _He didn't need any of them_. He only  _needed_  Cybertron and the Matrix. He refused to even contemplate anything else.

* * *

Rattletrap hadn't bothered with the footage in the end. It wasn't needed. He made sweet, sweet love to the records of who came and went instead, and there had been a pattern. One he'd almost missed – he  _wasn't_  Support, he wasn't trained for this, but he was here. One-eye had been trained for this, and he was fragging busy, and the only  _other_  undercover he could have used was in the fragging Senate, and he wasn't touching them with a  _Nemesis_ -sized pole unless ordered. Dinobot could have the stuck up gearstick known as Sherma.

He knew there were other spies, but he didn't know who, and he  _liked_  it like that. Less chance of them all getting ratted out at once. Not that  _he'd_  tell anything. Lobe and Vortex had made sure they all had a good memwipe-virus or two readied in case they got caught before going undercover.

Annnddd he really  _didn't_  like what he found. He really, really did not. They'd likely have to pull out. The witch was  _good_. Jazz level good and  _she_  hadn't been stuck as a desk jockey since Wars 'end'.

"Yo, chopperface," Rattltrap said without preamble after making sure to vorn-bit secure his transmission. "I found what ya wanted."

_"That was fast."_

"Yea, well, once you all but said you thought Spec Ops, I did some digging in the doorkey logs."

 _"Is that so?"_  The General hissed, crimson-red optics narrowed.

"Yea. Once I knew we was looking for Spec Ops, that narrowed it something fierce and DKLs are  _impossible_  to alter. Wasn't easy, and you  _owe_  me that topless bar, but I got what ya wanted."

_"Do tell, Rattletrap."_

"You – Eh. Who am I kidding?  _High Command_  ain't gonna like it." Rattletrap said, nervous. "Beta's group... They're still  _active_..."

The General blinked, optics rezzing with shock and fear.  _"Are you certain of this?"_

"Yea. I triple checked. The key-codes match, the pattern's them. My processor hurts, and I wanna purge."

_"Find out where she went. You have your orders."_

Rattletrap scowled at the black screen. Maybe he  _was_  going to make a pest of himself with One-eye. Head of Intel probably had the answers. He  _always_  had answers and he was tied to Megatron's Unit just like Dinobot was.

Mind made up, Rattletrap stood, stretched, activated his internal HUD, and opened up  _The Big Conversation_. He logged in as tehgamblr and found one of Shockwave's usernames quick enough.

/U free 1-i?

/I am for some breems.

/how lng?

/One-third of a cycle.

/k gotta q 4 u. U kno b2's unit?

The cursor blinked for almost half a breem. Then: /I do. Why.

/Y dey take RC?

/She was once part of the Unit. I... cannot find much more. The access codes are denied.

/k. Pl-B?

/Yes. Shall I contact warashes?

/Ye. Rattletrap knew who's althandle  _that_  was.

* * *

On Earth, a green hand touched their commlinks, purple optics narrowing.  _/Bumblebot is late./_

 _/Couldn't get away sooner. I got your fuel-/_  the reply came.

_/Bumblebot say that a lot lately... /_

_/It's the truth. Allspark. I can't help it that everyone is on high alert these solar cycles, or that Bulkhead's started to tail me. Man, you'd think he was a_ tracker _or something./_

 _/Bumblebot let them tail him. Bumblebot know what_ happen _if Bumblebot tailed./_

 _/I'm_ not _being tailed!/_

There was a frantic truth to his words, and the green mech smiled cruelly.  _/Wasp not sure Bumblebot understand how_ kind _Wasp being... Maybe Wasp make Bumblebot take Wasp's place-./_

_/I do I do_ _**I DO** _ _!/_

Wasp cocked his head in thought. Making the bumbling thing take his place was interesting, but he wouldn't be there to  _make sure_  the bumbling thing suffered. This way he could make Bumblebot suffer.  _/Bumblebot stay planet night. Help Wasp fuel./_

_/Y-Yea. Sure./_

Wasp relaxed slightly, then turn his attention elsewhere. He knew Bumblebot had another tail – the Bluebot was starting to get annoying, and with the Decepticons so close –

Wasp's optics brightened. He'd learned a useful trick in the Stockades, and he'd already hacked into the transmission signals -tachyon and otherwise- the Decepticons were using so he could stay alert to their movements. He quickly set things up so Bluebot would overhear something of the next tachyon transmission. They'd all been coming from Cybertron lately.

Bluebot would pick the transmissions up, and Bluebot would  _leave_.

He knew this because Autobots  _hated_  traitors and would do  _anything_  to catch them.

* * *

She moved carefully in the shadows of the small Antillian outpost. It was marginally Decepticon and sat near energon mines. Her Command had  _finally_  trusted her with a more important mission and she didn't want to screw it up; not again. There wasn't supposed to be much activity here, but they needed to make sure no interesting data was held within the computers. Less activity  _could_  mean less protected, after all.

Even so, she paused, dialling up her audios. She could have sworn she heard something. After a several kliks of silence, she moved on, practically pouncing the terminal. It was quickly hacked, the data uploaded to the chip within her. It'd transmit to the Commander no matter what.

She didn't remember everything about herself. She was old, they said. Two and a bit teravorn, they said. That didn't feel right, but she wasn't going to question it. Age wasn't needed for her Job, and her trainers had made sure she  _knew_  her job.

She was intel. She was part of Beta's Unit. She had swords and she knew how to use them. They said she was a berserker. Again, it didn't  _feel_  right but she wasn't going to question it.

They'd liberated her from wrongful ICU-storage an orn ago and painstakingly pieced her back together.

Her name was Arcee.

And she  _did_  hear something this time. Arcee whirled around, gun in hand, visually scanning the room for a few kliks before remembering to use her other scanners as well. She frowned when they came back with a really odd reading alongside the Decepticon signal.

"Aww... did I startle you?" Someone said, half in the shadows.

"Yes," she answered honestly, gun trained on the strange 'Con's chest. That was where the spark was.

"Go ahead. Shoot me if you can, Autobot." The Decepticon stalked forth. Kibble – was it even kibble – raised, glowing.

Acree squeaked as she hit the wall, gun shaking. Nothing of her training had prepared her for this. "I- I need to upload this data."

"You?" The Decepticon femme rested a hand on the gun, head cocked to the side. "Data?"

"They'll sort through it later," she answered, unable to pull the trigger. Theoretical battle training did not translate to practical.

"They? Autobot High Command, I assume?" She reached out, and grabbed her hand. "I can't let you go."

"W-what? Why?" Her systems revved in slight panic. She still couldn't pull the trigger.

"Because when you go back, you'll report that you ran into a Decepticon. I can't allow that. I'm sorry."

Arcee shook her head. "If you just let me go, I won't tell them." They didn't  _need_  to know everything, did they? After all, if the 'Con didn't hurt her, there was no reason to go after her. "Please..."

"I can't." She let go, then transformed, and bit the other on the wrist before Arcee had time to do anything other than stare in shock. The last thing Arcee saw as the venom activated was the sad, resigned face of the female 'Con.

She shouldn't be sad...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, faves, follows, kudos etc. I really do appreciate them.


	15. Divulgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the headcanons in this chapter. Seeker-speak was created using google translate and Icelandic words. If any of my readers are speakers, I apologise profusely for the butchering of your language and welcome corrections.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  Implied/stated PTSD, stated kin-slaying, and implied suicide of an OC.

**(In which Starscream is a messy ball of emotion but he's getting better. Kinda.)**

Starscream had been absolutely gleeful when news of the new arrivals had filtered through. Right up until Megatron had given the triplechangers 'Reunion Leave' and ordered the Stunticons out in a high priority search for Sound Wave.

At least Nightbird and Sonar had teleported in soon after, meaning they were free of their mundane, mindless,  _drone-job_. Yet, as if to insult them further, or drive a point home to Starscream via Dirge, Megatron had kept Sunstorm and Ramjet at his side.

The threat had not been lost on either of them, more so Dirge. Young as she was and clone or not, she  _was_  a Matria and Megatron knew it. Reluctantly, she'd followed Starscream back to the cavern they called Roost, all but hurling the asked for datapad at Skywarp.

In retrospect, he never should have logged into  _The Big Conversation_ , even on Starscream's demands. His Trineleader's response to what he'd discovered on the forums - what had them buzzing with outrage and hate - was predictable when shown. He should have  _known_  that, some part of him whispered. You have his memories. Know his processor.

But having and accessing and knowing  _weren't_  the same thing.

He'd logged in, found the vidfiles while browsing, and showed it meekly to Starscream.

Eight kliks later -

" _THEY HAVE_ _ **WHAT**_?!"

And, if you asked one purple-and-black Leitandi, it was a terrifying response because he didn't know Leitskýin could even  _sound_  like that. Teleporting himself behind Thundercracker, and ignoring the sound of disgust from his Trinemate, Skywarp peered out at the irate Sky-Lord, The Flock Commander who Led them in Flight and to Roost. The Coward was thankful his blue-and-black Trinemate didn't move to expose him, though it was probably hard to do when Skywarp was half clinging to him. Yet he did cross his arms, head tilted just so as he considered his Trineleader and the now very dead datapad in his claws. " _Obviously_  it means they have something  _inferior_  to us.  _Beneath_  our notice."

Skywarp liked it when Thundercracker wasn't a complete pain in the wings and being semi-practical. "TC's right. I-it could be a load of slag for all we know?"

Where'd  _that_  bravery come from? It was terrifying, and he could feel TC's amusement over it, and that wasn't fair. He wasn't  _brave_.

"They have Leitandi -you beheld the footage  _heliogator_  posted - they made-" Compared to the elegant, soothing pitches of Leitskýin, the Neo-Cybex 'heliogator' was jarring, scratchy and wrong besides such beautiful, flowing language.

Skywarp wanted to claw his audios out so he'd never  _ever_  hear the two in the same sentence again.

"They look scary," Skywarp whispered, low enough so his Lord Prince wouldn't hear, but from Thundercracker's snort the Egomaniac clearly had. Skywarp's wings slid down a fraction, EM-field wordlessly asking forgiveness for calling the enemy scary. It was granted after a klik, though the Trinebond still pulsed disapproval and disgust.

The Coward relaxed, only to squeal half a klik later when the datapad hit the wall, shattering on impact. Starscream stared at it in disgust, wings flared, EM-field almost blinding them all with more emotions than they could  _possibly_  hope to name. The Trinebond was much the same; Skywarp was afraid to reach out to it for fear of drawing attention to himself. Not when Starscream was like this.  _Trining_  had been harrowing enough,  _thank you very much_ , and look where it'd gotten them.

"I did  _not_  give you permission to almost  _blind me_!" Thundercracker snarled before the silence could stretch any longer, face contorting to rage then fear as Starscream turned on him, nullray half raised. Skywarp swore he had a new leak, but he couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- take his optics off Starscream.

Doing so was  _asking_  to be defenestrated through a wall  _at least_.

"I am Lord of the Skies,  _chosen by Primus themselves_. I do  **not**  need your  _permission_ ,  _clone of mine_." The Prince's optics narrowed, claws repeatedly fisting and the grind of denta lost in the low, slow snarls of his engines. He stared haughtily at Thundercracker until the clone looked away, blue wings angled down in a short, sharp flick. Skywarp could taste TC's resentment, but now wasn't the time to speak up. Starscream was like some kind of god, Skywarp thought. A  _very_  fragable god and he  _shouldn'_ t be thinking such things -

Not when the Sky-Lord of Vos was angry with them; with  _Thundercracker_. What if he slagged them  _all_  for the next outburst?

Starscream's smile was cold, cruel. Chilling. Slowly, he lowered the nullray and started to pace in thought. "Of  _all_  the Leitandi they could have used- They  _pilfered_  and  _looted_  from  _my_  coding and used it-"

"Oh  _please_. Isn't that what  _you did_  to make  _us_ , my Prince?" Dirge snapped from her seat on a rock, wings still bearing the marks of Starscream's worry-rage-anger over her actions with Megatron, but she didn't seem to be cowed. If anything, she seemed amused by everything.

Skywarp thought her rather mad, and, more alarmingly, wished they were a  _proper_  Harem, with the bond and all. Bonds made everything easier and he really  _wanted_  to be her mech. She looked like she'd be a strong Matria, willing and capable of defending them and her brood against threats. Willing to soothe away his fears, maybe. He'd seen her in the air. She was fast and agile. Sleek and deadly. He wondered if she'd be soft and gentle with him. He knew, vaguely, not all Matria were nice to the lowest in the Harem.

He hoped she would be. She seemed to treat her Trine decently, and he didn't think Starscream would  _let_  her abuse his Trine.

"Oh look who's decided to join in,  _Matria_."

Even  _Thundercracker_  winced at the  _heavily_  insulting glyphs attached to the gender-modifier. They implied she  _wasn't_  a real one, that she couldn't do her job at  _all_. She couldn't Spark them up, keep them in line, ride herd on them. She couldn't  _stop_  another Matria from poaching them.

 _Lies lies_ _ **lies**_ , some part of Skywarp screamed. The Coward blinked. He wasn't her mech, so why was he getting all offended for her honour? He peered up at Thundercracker, as if his shield had all the answers, but the Seeker -no,  _Leitandi_ \- was ignoring him. Typical. He didn't want to poke at the memories more than he had either, even if doing so might have given him the answers he sought. What if he found something  _frightening_?!

Plus, Starscream had little patience for him on a good day, and well. Asking him Why's tended to go over as well as clipping wings.

Or, it seemed, insulting Dirge.

The Matria stood, all fluid grace and power and authority. Skywarp whimper-moaned. He wanted her as his Matria so badly, but he  _didn't_  want her because she might turn that charm against him and he  _didn't_  want to be hurt for daring to go against his Trineleader. But he wanted her so much it was driving him crazy and he knew Thundercracker was much the same, even if  _he_  hid it better. When she spoke, her voice was the powerful purr of a Matria, wings angled wide, possessive. "Starscream...  _Enough_."

"You-" Starscream stopped mid-stalk towards the female, shuddering as the harmonics washed over him. Skywarp didn't blame him - they were powerful and they felt  _good_. Soothing in a way that wasn't judging. He could  _feel_  the emotions over the Trinebond as sure as he knew Starscream was lost and confused and needy.  _Vulnerable_. Hurting. A mech who'd  _broken_  and reforged himself into something with ragged edges and a personality like armour that  _never_  let anyone in. Skywarp was honestly in awe over that and he knew TC was as well. Then it was gone, hurt covered up with spluttering, furious indignation as claws slashed through the air. " _You're_ _ **not**_ _my Matria_!"

It was a whine, Skywarp realised. A petulant one of denial and fear.

Dirge exvented, hands on hips, optics kind. Her voice hadn't lost its purr. " _Why_  are you upset, mech."

Starscream stared, shoulders hunching, wings flicking against backplating as he squirmed, struggled against coding that had awoken with a  _vengeance_.

Even Thundercracker was silent, and Skywarp risked a glance at him. The mech looked thoughtful and not at all amused to see their Maker struggling against his own code. Odd, but Skywarp was used to Thundercracker being  _Odd_.

"I -You-"

"Yes?" Dirge said, still with that same purr. The same soothing tones that begged him to curl up at her feet and  _accept_  her as his Matria and trust her.

"This is  _different_. You don't know the Autobots. First they  _killed_  my City and her 'titan - I  _felt_  her spark collapse- Now-" Starscream sucked up air in a vain attempt to control his shaking as he attempted to calm himself to limited success.

Unbidden, Skywarp's processor dredged up images of Leitaað in all her glory. Shining spires and towers that reached for the skies with bridges arching between the higher spans, as if a shield. Of the Metrotitan that lay at the Heart of the City and allowed them Roost. She'd been a sleek model with sweeping angles and wings as silver-blue as the skies they'd once flown. She was fundamentally  _different_  yet the same as the rest of them.

Outsiders called her Vos; a crude, inelegant translation of Leitaað into Primal Vernacular that persisted, was insidious in their ranks even now to this very cycle. She'd been Primus-kindled, one of five. They, the first of his race- the first 'Vosians' had been kindled from her, like the First Lord of the Skies had been kindled from Primus. Kindled and given a Roost and a Charge.

She'd died a megavorn after the Great Wars had started when the bombs had fallen in an effort to break Megatron's air force. Starscream - Leitandi as a whole - had become used to thinking of her as Vos thanks to outsiders, and Soundwave.

It was  _wrong_ ; he wanted to know his sparkright language- and he  _needed_  to keep up with TC, who's ego would allow nothing less.

How far they'd fallen. Once proud and elegant, ruling the skies as was their birthright, and his Spark  _wept_. He'd never fly the Skies of the Creator.

Starscream's voice dragged him away from the memories of glory and lost Promises. "– they want my Sparkright-"

"Vos. Us." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. You - Us - We are now Leitaað - Vos. Who also happens to have been a name taken and corrupted by the DJD, and Megatron  _let_  them -" Starscream spun on his heels, snarling murder at the Matria for some unseen, possibly imagined, slight. Skywarp was amazed Dirge didn't flinch. He knew  _he_  had and he was clinging to Thundercracker as he watched the Prince shake with rage-fear-panic-hate as he resumed his pacing. " _Don't_  go  _against_  him again. He will bring them here and he will make me watch as you die-"

"Aww. I didn't know you cared." Dirge crossed her arms.

" _YOU'RE MINE! I_ _ **MADE**_ _YOU_." Starscream didn't quite shriek, but in the cavern they'd claimed as a Roost, it echoed. " _I_  am  _Lord of the Skies_ , and I will  _not_  have one of my Eyrar go against the tyrant again."

"By your will, Lord of the Skies," Dirge ground out, wings angled in respect, but little else.

The Trinebond flickered unsteadily as Starscream started pacing yet again, and Skywarp's reaction was to bolster it, offer what support he could give. This was his  _Maker_ , his Trinemate, his Prince, his  _Lord_. Slowly, the Prince settled, wings still shaking, but no longer as worked up as he had been. "I'm going to  _find_  them,  _kill_  them.  _Mockeries_. Imperfect things. How - did they have dead shells laying around?"

"Or," Dirge started, optics narrowed. "They had one of Aerialbots-"

Starscream paused. Turned. Optics wide. Haunted. Dawning terror. For several seconds there was nothing - then the EM-field and Trinebond flashed furious indignant anger and hate and  _fearfearfear_ _ **loss**_  -

Skywarp literally threw himself away from Thundercracker, backpedaling until his back connected solidly against the wall with a resounding clang. Metal squealed as he sunk down. This was  _new_. This anger-fear-loss-pain-anger was  _new_  and Starscream was looking at him and the Coward curled up, arms over his head even before the Prince - their Maker who could easily  _Unmake_  them and he didn't want to die - was stalking towards him. "Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me-"

"Get up."

Skywarp tripped over himself to obey, optics wide, wings all but pinioned in submission as he stared at his Maker, his Trineleader, his Lord of the Skies. The one who led them in Flight and Roost - but Leitaað was gone. They had no... No. They had a Roost. A vast collection of starships known as Leitaað - 'Vos'.  _Home in the Heavens_. "Lord Prince Starscream?"

Skywarp felt a flicker of something over the Trinebond as Starscream stared back, unblinking, yet not threatening. "I'm  _not_  angry at you."

What- His optics flickered back and forth between the gathered Seekers. Dirge looked disinterested and Thundercracker was a steady presence in the Trinebond. Starscream was an enigma wrapped in the finest steelweaves used as polishing cloth.

A terrifying one he didn't know what to make of, yet Skywarp had the feeling even if he did, it wouldn't matter. Starscream would  _always_  be terrifying and mercurial.

"I'm angry at what is long dead -  _supposedly_. We never found bodies - that-" Starscream inhaled, intakes and vents alike rattling as he exhaled, gathering his thoughts. Not that Skywarp would dare dream to interrupt him. "You bear the name of a  _great warrior_  the Aerialbots terminated, and a name similar to  _my grand-dam_."

" _Me_? A great warrior? Your g-grand-dam? As in  _a Lord of the Sky_  a- I-I think I sprung a leak." Or ten thousand.

Skywarp again glanced at Thundercracker. The Egomaniac shrugged, just as nonplussed as the Coward, and Dirge was rolling her optics. Starscream facepalmed with a muttered prayer for patience, dragging his claws slowly down his face, and Skywarp tried very, very hard not to flinch when he was on the end of an Irritated Prince Look. He tried and failed, but mercifully his Prince didn't seem to notice or care. "Yes,  _you_. Be thankful you don't bear Twisterspin's name."

"Who?"

"A  _Svikari_. Leave it at that," Starscream snarled, voice melding with angry, hurting sub-harmonics and Leitandi-based glyphs. Skywarp's optics widened and he found himself so very, very, very happy he didn't share a name with a  _kin-slayer_. "Skywarp was the best. You share his teleportation."

"He  _wasn't_  worthy to be your kin," Thundercracker sneered as he made his way towards them. "Svikara are disgraceful, irredeemable."

Skywarp didn't need a Trinebond to know Starscream had seen the rust-red of rage.

"That," the Leitandi Lord hissed as he lunged, claws aimed for Thundercracker's wings. The other Seeker wasn't fast enough in dodging the attack, and Starscream snarled, optics blazing. "is  _my brother_  you befouled."

Skywarp whimpered, but he wasn't game enough to try and stop their Maker from punishing one of them. Not when the Prince's royal brother had been insulted. Kin-slayer or no, you  _didn't_  insult kin-bonded, and you most certainly  _never_  insulted the Sky-Lord's family. Nope nope nope,  ** _never_**. While Thundercracker attempted to fend off Starscream, Dirge made her way to him.

"He won't kill him," she said as they both sunk to the ground, Skywarp curling against the Matria. She was Safe. Not as Safe as Starscream could be, but Safe. Safe was good and meant no-one was trying to hurt him. She wrapped an arm around him and the Coward settled, coding purring in the back of his head. She - she was his Matria.  _Their_  Matria.

"I hope not. Why did he-" An insult was one thing, but Starscream had reacted stronger than he should've had to to defend a Svikari's honour.

"We  _have_  his memories. You have a Trinebond. Access them," she waved her free hand. "You'll learn more, and understand  _why_  I'm not pushing as hard to give him what he needs."

What  _they_  needed. Skywarp understood the basics. They'd onlined 'fully' mature, fully coded. Mature Seekers  _rarely_  lasted without Trine or Harem and Skywarp desperately  _wanted_  the stability that both would bring.

"Oh." Skywarp did as told, barely noticing the Trinebond was mostly closed on Starscream's end. That was - normal. Normal, because it was the Prince, and poking at it wasn't... a good idea?

Instead, he turned his attention to the memories, optics glazing over as he skimmed the files. He saw the formation of the first Trine, of the sky-race in which Starscream had claimed his Sparkright, of how proud Windsheer had been. He saw Twisterspin and the simmering jealousy that had overtaken the ex-Prince. Half-brother. Older half-brother who'd  _wanted_  to be the Sky-Lord, and the resulting murder of the extended family. Starscream had lost most of his family to the jealous rage of a  _sibling_.

Windsheer had Twisterspin and his Trine Exiled as her last act. Exiled,  _not_  Stricken. She could have, but she hadn't. Exiled though he was, Twisterspin was still Family. It was her last act before she'd ripped her own Spark out, casting it to the ground as her shell greyed and faded, spark guttering before the chamber hit the ground. She'd Plunged Free.

Skywarp moved on. He briefly saw the first Harem, saw how the Matria courted them with false words and promises, how she'd been climbing for Status, seeking to use it for her  _own_  ends. She and her Trine died in in a blotched raid led by Megatron himself. Starscream, hurt as he was by her Status-climbing, had been  _livid_.

The Warlord - the so-called  _Protector_  - hadn't cared.  _It was war_ , he said.  _Things happened_.

They never accepted another Matria even though Starscream's spark  _screamed_  for the stabilizing influence of one. Starscream had started to test Megatron, tug at the jesses as he Flew the Light, hoping to salvage  _something_  of the Protector he'd once known before their white-and-navy, trailer-winged  _Prime_  had died in those ill-fated riots.

Then he came across a dizzying, tumultuous fight-flight-air-battle that seemed to be a threeway memory that settled to Skywarp's view as he - they - shot across the battlefield. Around them other Leitandi rained hellfire on the troops below, Starscream speeding ahead with lethally graceful precision. It was glorious. It was thrilling and his - their - spark sang. A whoop of delight as he - they teleported behind a white aerialbot while Thundercracker boomed overhead, leading Autobot fliers on a merry game of cat and mouse.

He - they had target lock. He fired. Grazed the aerialbot's wings. Something slammed into his - their undercarriage as a wing sheered off from another explosion. Memory said Thundercracker stalled and the Autobot's were on him and no

 _no_ -

Skywarp's processor catapulted him to here-and-now with such force he pitched forward, optics rezzed in shock and fear and awe and terror and then he was clutching his midsection, energon dripping from his mouth. He'd bitten his glossa to keep from screaming, but that did nothing against the frantic beating of his spark, or how he clung to the Trinebond. "I-I  _can't_  be like that- I'll die. I'll  _die painfully and horribly_  and I don't like-"

"I  _won't_  allow you to die."

The purple teleporter looked up, pale-red optics meeting Leitandi-crimson. Starscream was centimetres from his face, energon fouled claws on Skywarp's knees. Distantly, he heard Thundercracker's whimpers of pain as the mech struggled to stand. But Thundercracker was alive, and the beating probably  _wasn't_  as bad as he was making it out to be. "Ah-"

"You're mine." The word was possessive and needy, soaked and layered in meanings. Clone. Creation. Leitandi. Trinemate. Haremmate. Wanted,  _needed_ ,  _desired_. Sky-Lord's Eyrar. Flock. "Do you understand  _why_  I don't want you testing Megatron? He  _killed_  my Matria. He killed you. His orders  _killed_  you and only because of my Sigma I survived."

Skywarp nodded mutely. He didn't ask about Ramjet, Sunstorm or Dirge. They weren't Trine and they were not,  _yet_ , a Harem.

"We  _need_  Megatron and his dirtkissers, but I'm not Scouting Afar or Soaring High or Flying the Light for him. Seekers - _Leitandi_ \- will  _not_  stand with a crazed Protector. Not after what he's done to  _me_. To us. Will do  _again_  if we don't dance-the-skies to his tune."

"How crazed is he, Starscream?"

" _Too far to be saved_ ," Starscream's optics were as hollow as his voice. "He should have  _died_  when his Prime did."

"I-Is there... Another?" Skywarp asked timidly. Because there should be another, something told him.

"The Matrix is gone, 'Warp." As if that made things clearer, but Skywarp didn't dare ask for clarification. "He chases after shades and code-wisps.  _He_  and  _I_  are the only ones left."

"Star...?"

Starscream looked away, optics shuttered, intakes forcibly measured, calm, refusing to flinch at Dirge's touch or the worry-pulse from the Trinebond. "They  _broke_  us with Optimus and Gigatron's murders and the destruction of the Matrix. They probably murdered Devcon too, given how I  _never_  knew him."

"Devcon? Who's that?" Dirge asked, helm cocked to the side.

"The Vörður - Imperial Guard. I matured on the stories of Old, and my Sire always said they  _murdered_  because they couldn't control us. That  _every_  war had been Senatus fault."

Skywarp didn't think he wanted to know the context, ever. Not when  _this_  Optimus's name held the glyphs for  _Peace Hunter_. But from how Starscream's hands were shaking, murdering what could have only been a pure sparked mech  _wasn't_  a good thing. "Oh."

"We can't leave Earth to hunt them down," Dirge muttered, dragging the topic back to the Autobot Fliers. "Megatron has my Trinemates by his side."

"Unfortunate but unavoidable," Starscream dismissed it, but it was almost as if it was out of habit and lacked any true bite behind the words.

This close, Skywarp could feel the  _fear_  lurking below the surface. Wordlessly, he shifted, opening his arm in an invitation, and found himself pulled onto the Prince's lap, possessive arms around his waist. Dirge adjusted herself so she was leaning against both.

"... I need a new datapad," Starscream took the offered one from Dirge without questioning why she had two. She could collect datapads for all he cared, as long as she  _didn't_  stop the soothing harmonics from her engines. "I think... sixteen-page rant on how utterly  _offended_  I am over this should serve well, while Thundercracker decides if his  _ego_  is worth more than  _repairs_."

By the time Starscream was on the seventh page, Thundercracker had joined them, resting against Starscream and radiating steady, unfailing support and loyalty, and a thick, heavy undercurrent of a bruised ego.

"S-Starscream..?" Skywarp ventured after a while. "I-If they made two... wh-where's the  _third_?"

Starscream saved his rant, flicked back to the footage again. For several long seconds, they all stared at it, Starscream's wings shaking with rage. "They  _wouldn't_..."

The rant gained another eight pages to total twenty-four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starscream is probably the most informed as to things yet even he doesn't the full story, and well. War is happening.
> 
> Comments/concrit much appreciated and loved.


	16. Repairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing I own in this chapter is Wildcard.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  Sexism from a main character in this chapter. If you don't like, don't read.

**(Of repairs...)**

"Jazz. What can I do for you?" The red mech on screen nodded in greeting.

"Yo, been awhile, m'mech."

"Not that long. Only a vee since we last spoke," the silver-blue opticed racer smirked.

"Long enough."

"Long would be the five mv I've been here."

"True," Jazz grinned as he leant against the console, keeping his end of the conversation voice-only. "So... Think you could get a medic ready along with these?"

The mech paused as Jazz transmitted the codes and parts he needed, optics widening, but then he nodded. "I'll pass this onto Commander Novastream, who'll set your lockdown in place. The medic'll let you know when things are ready. "

"Thanks, mech." Jazz kept his voice light, even if he was wondering where Rodimus had been reassigned, given last  _he'd_  heard, they wanted to give the prodigy field-training. But, it probably didn't matter in the long term; once the field-training was over, the prodigy'd be joining them under Magnus's direct command; or shipped to a dull, safe command like the rest had been. "Tell yer commander I'm sorry for disrupting his base."

"I'll let her know."

"Ah - Right." A  _femme_  commander!? Jazz forced a smile with a slight laugh as the red mech nodded. The outpost  _was_  far away enough Command probably thought no-one would notice or care. Oh well; he likely wouldn't have to interact with her if he played his cards right.

There was something  _wrong_  about femmes in positions of command. They weren't made for the roles; just look at the  _scandal_  Botanica was causing with her  _trysts_  amongst the lowest classes of Cybertron. Disgraceful  _and_  unbecoming of a femme that was unattached. As if she'd find a Conjunx that'd be willing to take her at this rate. Yet, that was generally a femme. No tact  _or_  class at all. "My bad there."

"It happens." If his friend's smile was forced, Jazz didn't notice it, and once the console clicked off, he dragged a hand over his face. Most of that had been done on automatic; his thoughts still wanted to circle back to Prowl even after a nap.

He couldn't blame them.

His emotions kept sending the ice cold feeling of  _betrayal_  down his backstruts. He'd dealt with traitors before and  _normally_  he could separate emotions from the job; this one hit too close to home, too close to what he'd lost back in the Great Wars. It didn't help that Prowl had  _that_  tactical CPU in his overall processor and  _honestly_  looked like he was with the Decepticon willingly at this point.

Jazz had scoured the image captures for  _any_  sign of those blasted shock collars the 'Cons used.

He'd found none. Not even a lick of anything  _remotely_  resembling it. That was a punch to the gyros Jazz was unwilling to accept, but evidence  _was_  evidence. It didn't stop him from hoping Blurr's investigations would prove  _otherwise_. But, with the evidence as it was now, Prowl was a traitor and Jazz  _had_  to operate on that fact and shove any and all emotions out of the equation as best he could. He hoped, for Prowl's sake, the Ninja was held against his will.

Or perhaps that hope was the result of his emotions wanting to spend time with Prowl. It wasn't  _his_  Prowl, and he knew that, but Primus Below they shared so many traits that it was almost too easy to forget and pretend, even for a klik.

The logical part of him knew that wasn't fair on the young mech who knew nothing about any of this. Emotionally?

He  _wanted_  to be selfish and childish and not care what logic told him. He wanted his Conjunx Endura  _back_ , and didn't give a damn he was emotionally compromised; a better, stronger mech would have stepped back from the mission. He wasn't, and he couldn't  _be_  that mech until he had literal proof Prowl was a traitor in his hands.

 _And_ , some small dark part whispered insidiously,  _if he is a traitor, his spark in hand to snuff it out him-_

Specialised sensors common to all Special Ops mechs detected movement behind him, jerking him to the here-and-now as hidden weapons systems whirled to life. A nanoklick later revealed it was just the twins stirring from their nap, yet it was enough to derail errant thoughts of could-have-beens. Jazz sighed, ran a hand down his face for the second time in as many breems, and forced one of his trademarked grins to his face. The last thing the Twins needed was to worry about him. "You guys get some energon. We'll be disembarking soon, and the medic'll have  _my_  head if you show up unfuelled."

Jazz wasn't keen on facing a medic's ire;  _any_  medic's ire.

"Were you having any luck with data we taken from station?" Jetstorm asked after several kliks, making his way to the small dispenser on the shuttle.

"Prowl's definitely with him. They did some trading with Swindle, but they seemed to have left not long before we caught up." Jazz started pulling up some charts that mapped the Autobot and Decepticon parts of the galaxy.

While the Autobot Commonwealth was large, it bordered Nebulon space to the north and no-one was game enough to step foot there. It might have been roughly eight gigavorn since the end of the Great Wars, but the Nebulons still held grudges like one wouldn't believe and the fact they lived half a megavorn  _didn't_  help; the centre of the galaxy was Vok territory and frag if he wanted to deal with  _them_  ever again.

The Decepticon space to the south seemed to stretch out along the galactic rim more than it pushed inwards, but it was still a large enough territory. Or so the official version went, and Jazz knew they had  _more_  than that. There was neutral space of course, but that was really only a thinish no-mech's land between the Autobot and Decepticon areas. Enough that most of the Commonwealth believed Decepticons didn't exist, but not enough to truly convince the worlds closest to the edge that it was true. That was saying nothing of the planets/places in Cybertronian space that claimed neutrality.

Earth hung a stone's throw from all of that, as did remnants of the Quints. They still hadn't pulled together after the Wars that'd broken up the Cybertronian Empire, and embittered the rest of the galaxy against them.

It was more something to distract himself than anything, but it would serve a purpose too. He pointed at the charts as he explained. "They headed off this way, and I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say they were heading for another outpost deeper into Decepticon territory. So once we get ourselves fixed up, I'll report this back to Magnus and see what he has to say. I don't know if he'll want you two going that far into 'Con controlled space."

"It is unknowing if willing, yes?" Jetfire spoke up, tilting his helm.

"Deeper? I am not wishing to be deeper going." Jetstorm pushed a cube into his twin's hands.

"Unknown at this stage." He could give Prowl that. "Magnus'll likely want to get you kids back to Fort Max." Which was cool with him, even if the groans told it wasn't cool with the twins. Jazz – the Operative – did not care. It gave him a greater leeway in his own actions, and he wouldn't need to keep an optic on any rookies. And they'd be  _safe_. "But we'll see either way."

Jazz shut down the charts and keyed open the ramp when the terminal blipped, signalling the medic had sent them the all clear signal. He hauled himself up with something a quick stretch. "All right, mechs, let's go get ourselves ship-shape."

The twins followed after Jazz like cyberpuppies. It was cute, even if they were a good head taller than him. They gawked at the outpost as they exited, though it wasn't the looming buildings they were looking at; it was the silvery-blue sky of an alien world.

"Wow. It is so..."

"Different. Not like Cybertron." Jetfire finished.

"Yeah. It's brighter than Cybertron's sky in light-cycle and the sun's closer than Cybertron's is, too." He felt guilty somewhat for teasing them like that – more so when he knew they had no memory of their previous lives and had only seen the sky in the sims- but what he said was true. Athenia's sky  _was_  very similar to Cybertron's sky.

"Really? See it we will?"

"Yea. Once Magnus clears you guys for outside flight. After you."

Once inside the building, he herded them down the designated path to the medbay and not for the first time did he thank Primus and the Allspark for those codes. They cleared out the nearest available medbay. In this case, it wasn't that far from the entrance they'd used. Maybe fifteen metres at best. It wasn't the biggest one and was clearly one of the ones designed for treating emergencies – and Neutral fliers by the look of it. Which would explain how things were obtained within a half-cycle and not the cycle Jazz had figured for downtime.

Nice. A little worrying yes, but he'd later feed the rest of the base some cover story of escorting Neutral diplomats who also happened to fliers. Diplomats who'd run afoul of Seekers thinking they were Autobot-aligned fliers. Given the rule (or propaganda) about no Autobot fliers and the hatred Seekers, on the whole, had for any flier that seemed Autobot-aligned… Yea, the base would buy it.

Though talk about Seeker-held grudges.  _Urrg_.

A small shake of his head to clear the thoughts away and the Ninja hopped up on one of the berths as soon as they were inside, making himself comfortable on a medical berth for the second time in under three vorns. The twins followed suit without even a glance around; it spoke a lot about how often they were in medbay at Fort Max for check-ups and scans and various other tests the scientists and medics wanted to run. Not that Jazz blamed them, given the Decepticon code that had been used.

Given  _who_ 's code they'd used.

No sooner had they settled than a red and silver mech walked into the room. He gave all three a quick scan while he placed the parts on the table then headed to the storage lockers for the rest of the supplies. "I'm Wildcard, senior medic on the outpost."

The name sounded familiar, but the glyphs used indicated it wasn't the mech Jazz was thinking of. He offered an easy grin. "Yo. Name's Jazz. Elite Guard Cyberninja."

"I am Jetstorm. Moron over there is Jetfire. "

"Moron I am not. That is being you brother," Jetfire poked his glossa out at his twin, who did the same.

Jazz shook his head and chuckled at the antics, before turning back to the medic. "You know what happened to Rodimus Minor?"

"He was reassigned several orns ago. I don't know more than that, Sir," Wildcard shrugged, pulling out a miniature welder, several clamps and two coolant bags. A once over of the twins and the medic headed for Jetfire. The young jet held out his wingless arm and the medic sighed and turned off the pain receptors before he opened the patch job.

"... It is odd."

Jetstorm blinked. "Huh?"

"His symbol. Do you not see it, brother? It is to be like Perceptor."

Wildcard nodded, optics flicked up for a second before looking back to his work. "Didn't anyone tell you what the Elite Guard is compared to the rank-and-file?"

Jazz shook his head and spoke up, voice dropping just a fraction. "The higher-ups have been paying more attention to their training."

"Of course," Wildcard nodded, and Jazz relaxed. The medic wasn't paid to ask questions, and he only had the honour of repairing Elite Guard because he really  _was_  the senior medic on base. The less he knew, the better off everyone here would be.

"Yes, but training is ridiculously easy," Jetfire and Jetstorm grinned as if sharing a joke. "Erm. Until Starscream was showing up in Combat Sims, but are to be winning, we are now! He is no match for us!"

Wildcard chuckled with a small indulgent smile as he worked on re-attaching Jetfire's winglet. "Training always seems so much easier than the real thing, as I'm sure you found out. Looks like the 'Con that did this had some pretty sharp weaponry on him."

"Oh, he did, but was a fun battle," Jetfire smirked. "I could have taken Rotor-mech down, no problem."

"No. Brother was to be forgetting combat lesson. 'No getting too close to Decepticon Fliers.'"

"Hey, no sense going over it now. You did good out there. Don't beat yerselves up over it." Jazz broke in, trying to stave off any argument before it could start. This little field trip had shown him one thing: Without  _actual_  combat experience, they'd gotten far too cocky, and the sims with the Starscream drone were hardly indicative of an actual battle. Vortex had proven that, and most Decepticons were cunning pieces of slag, and he didn't doubt this'd be soon spread amongst the 'Cons. He'd have to talk with Command about mixing in some  _actual_  data from past battles, or getting in touch with Skyfire.

Or something, but  _soon_ , otherwise they'd die, and he didn't want to have that on his record, Head of Special Ops or not, it wouldn't look good. 'Allowed Top Secret Military Personel to die less than an eighth vee after activation'.

"Sorry, Sir."

"He's right. Now, don't stress those welds for half a cycle or so. Give 'em time to set," Wildcard nodded and sealed up the last of the repairs on Jetfire and moved over to Jetstorm. Unlike his twin, it seemed the blue mech had gotten off on the lighter side of things, and after replacing any wiring that needed it, he welded the injuries closed. " _Definitely_  the luckier of the two."

Jetstorm gave a weak grin. "I'm not as hot of head as brother is."

Jetfire shot his twin a dirty look, before turning to the medic, half bowing, shoulders twitching down as if he had real wings to angle. "Thank you for checking us over."

Wildcard finished up and patted Jetstorm on the shoulder. "It was no problem. Just try to stay out of the line of fire next time, hm?" He moved over to Jazz and frowned when he got a better look at Jazz's injuries. "Primus, did you  _let_   _them_  hit you?"

Jazz chuckled; now he was thinking about it, slag he  _had_  taken a number of hits. He shrugged and leant back on the berth to let Wildcard do his job. "We were a little bit out-numbered, and I tend to attract fire for some reason."

"I can tell." Re-wiring and repairing the damage done to the Ninja didn't take long and soon the last new weld was in place. "We have some paint around somewhere. Want me to do any touch ups for you?"

Jazz shook his head as he hopped off the medical berth. "After I contact Magnus. These two can wait until they get back to base."

"Of course. I'll wait here, Sir."

"Good mech. Right, you two. Back to ship." Jazz ignored the groan from the pair. He knew they wanted to explore, but now wasn't the time.

Soon, he hoped. One way or the other, the twins should be allowed to explore. He'd fight for that right if he had to. They were  _his_  subordinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's friend is a canon character, with a paintjob from the Shattered Glass Universe.
> 
> As always, reviews/comments/what-not much loved and wanted. Thanks for reading!


	17. Shifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if I want to cuddle Jazz or throw him into a wall, and I know what exactly is happening to him. It's still no excuse, but...

**(Of shifts and memories)**

"Jazz." The Magnus nodded once in greeting.

Jazz shifted his weight into a more comfortable stance with a slow, controlled exvent and a roll of his shoulders. "I've analysed the data we got from the  _Guided Light_ , and I've got a pretty good idea o'where Lockdown's headed." Hopefully headed, because he wasn't a trained tracker like Hound was, and the more mistakes he made, the less chance there  _was_  of  _finding_  the blasted mech. "I also confirmed Prowl's with him, but there's no way of knowing the circumstances behind it."

"Is he not collared?"

Jazz shook his head. It'd make everything so much easier to deal with if he was. "Couldn't find a lick o' one."

"Blurr's Intel points to a probability of Prowl being abducted."

 _Abducted huh_? That was a relief to his spark, assuming Prowl hadn't been hacked and he  _wasn't_  willing to put his credits on that. "Y'recalled him yet?"

He knew he was slipping back into his native accent, and didn't care. Talking like a normal Iaconian all the time was tiring. Plus, he could use Blurr on this mission; that speed mod was slagging useful and he wished he knew  _where_  Blurr'd gotten it from other than he'd found it off-Cybertron way back.

"Negative. We've only now realised Wasp also escaped custody during the breakout."

Jazz nodded with a grimace. The breakout had been bad; they'd lost a number of prisoners ( _including_  a Phase-Sixer and the two freaks of nature they'd been in the middle of studying) and spies, not to mention many of the guards had been killed, and the Warden had  _vanished_. Jazz didn't envy those who were taking the fall, and now  _this_  oversight. Tch, hopefully they weren't still around when Jazz returned to Cybertron, or there would be more than Words exchanged. "Blurr's been running interference, then? What about Ratchet and his partner?"

Magnus nodded gravely. "They too."

Jazz scrubbed his face. Hopefully, they could keep Bumblebee safe from this threat, recapture Wasp, then everything could go back to the status quo. "Fine. He's worth it, even if they break cover."

And here he'd thought shoving Bumblebee on spacebridge maintenance would have kept him hidden until they could work out  _how_  to unlock the locked files in his spark and bring Goldbug back. Primus, this was becoming a  _mess_  and it wasn't even his doing, this time. "After my mission, I'd like to head to Earth and take the jets w'me. Too deep inta Operative to pull out now." Jazz's smile was sharp, cold, and lethal. "Do we know why Lockdown'd take Prowl, beyond Personal Reasons?"

He was going to carve Lockdown up if he'd lain a hand on Prowl. He pushed the thought that he'd do the same to  _anyone_  that touched  _his_  Jets to the background. They were his very young subordinates;  _that was all_.

"Very well." Magnus nodded with the barest uptick of a smile. Jazz didn't know what it meant yet he filed it away, just like everything. "Negative. However, that does not change the fact he is a Ninja, incomplete training or not. I want him found."

Jazz nodded, reading between the lines. They didn't need to give the Decepticon Ninja any more information if they could help it - bad enough the Decepticons tolerated those weird  _sparkeater wannabes_  in the ranks; Stalkers or something like that. He scrubbed his face with an exvent, cutting the thought thread there. He wanted to find Prowl, bring him home. The longer he was in 'Con hands, the worse it'd be because he knew they'd try and processorwash him. "Not taking the twins on th'rest of this gig with me."

Magnus looked surprised for a split klick, then nodded, optics narrowed in what Jazz hoped was thought and not disapproval. "I'll send over a retrieval team."

"I can grab a shuttle from here. Main comms mech's a buddy o'mine by the name o'Drift. Master Yoketron trained him for a time, before-"

Before the theft of the protoforms and protometals. Before Yoketron and a few of his students had  _died_.

Before they'd lost track of Prowl, only for him to turn up much,  _much_  later as part of a maintenance crew that ended up  _finding_  the  _Allspark_.

"Very well," Magnus conceded with a nod of acceptance. "Remember, your objective is to get him out functioning and CPU intact, Jazz. Do  _not_  do anything  _reckless_."

Jazz grinned at the pointed look. Magnus knew him too well. But he did have a point; the last thing they needed was Prowl in more danger than he already was. "Yea, no sweat, man. Anything further, Sir?"

"You have your orders."

"Thank you, Sir. Jazz out." He cut the link and sent a ping to his buddy. He turned to the twins while he waited for a reply. "Are you two gonna be okay goin' back by yerselves?"

"Yes," both of them nodded.

"Good mechs. I'll get you two set up in there when it's ready and make sure y'get on your way." Just to avoid any problems of course.

"Jazz?" Came the puzzled commlink from the outpost Comms Officer.

"Yo again, Drift. I'm wondering if you can spare a transport? My friends here need a secure transport back to Cybertron." As much as Drift was his friend, he didn't have clearance to know any more than that.

There was a pause before the reply came. "There's one a few bays over. Clearance Zone's in effect."

"Thanks, man. The Elite Guard'll see it's returned." He cut the connection and started back towards the ramp. "Let's get you guys home. You'll go via the Athenia Spacebridge quarter-cycle from here."

Once they were on their way, then the real mission would begin and Jazz would not deny he was looking forward to having Prowl in his arms again.

The chance to slaughter Lockdown was just a bonus, honestly.

* * *

"Now, are you going to explain what  _that_  was about earlier?" the commander yawned, eyeing the mech across from her. He sat in one of the only seats in her quarters, which were currently occupied by three of them. The third was bound on her berth, the femme seated next to him. A gag rested around his neck, but no collar even though the symbol on green plating all but screamed Autobot. Yet here in the soundproofed and bug-shielded room, his true-signal proclaimed him  _Decepticon_  just like the other two, and the cords holding him had inbuilt quick releases both he and his partner could operate. This was purely consensual.

There was  _no_  other way for the pair.

"I don't have clearance." The racer said, not bothered by what he was witness to. What the rest of the Unit got up to in their free time was their business, and knowing the pair, they likely had safewords all worked out already. Pit, this could be  _foreplay_  for them.

"Yet you're 'friends' with Jazz."

The racer shrugged. "He's  _also_  Head of Special Ops, Novastream."

"You  _sure_?"

He flashed a grin that was more fang than smile. "Yea. Broken a few myself to get the info."

Novastream bit back her hiss while her partner's engine growled, silencing itself only at the light swat to his chest. "Hush, you." She ignored her comms mech's roll of the optics. Please, as if she hadn't walked in on him and his pet jet in the middle of kinky swordplay with their Great Swords. With a huff, she brought her mind back to the topic at hand. "Wildcard?"

"Deleted his files  _and_  the CCTV."

Novastream's exvent was a heavily controlled snarl that sounded more like an angry mix between a fusion cannon and a blender than a race-frame's engine. " _Wonderful_. So the Elite Guard used us then took a shuttle for two of them back to Cybertron via the 'bridge,  _and_  deleted all evidence."

"Then lied an' said NDFs," the third piped up.

"How nice. Autobots living up to what they say  _we_  are," Novastream rolled her currently dark blue optics. "At least we don't lie so obviously it can be smelt. No Neutral worth their wings would set foot on Cybertron. Not after Delphi..."

She remembered that operation and the  _glee_  the DJD had taken in making an example of those working there, but not the injured for Primus' sake; they'd taken them, kept them alive, and  _ransomed_  them back to the Autobots. They were  _not_  heartless and prisoners were worth more  _alive_  than dead.

Tarn had, of course, taken the Neutral turned Autobot as a trophy. Rumour had he and his team were 'facing it through the floor.

"Here's to that," the green mech piped up again, yelping when the swat included claws this time. "Having a blue with me?"

"We'd be on the mats if I were, now hush like a good boy." Novastream sighed as she pet a seam even as she turned to the now standing red-black racer. She preferred his darker colours, but with how deep the operation was, they couldn't afford to give a hint that one of Megatron's more notorious lieutenants was in the base. Getting posted to this base had been long and frustrating and involved making friends with all the right mecha for  _all_  of them, and then climbing (or discretely killing) her way through the ranks, and they still hadn't determined  _if_  this was the one they were looking for.

"I'll look through what Wildcard used."

"Good." The female huffed as she straddled her bound mate. "I'll fill him in soon; Hopefully they have Arcee."

"And if they don't have her?"

"They will. They  _have_  to," she hissed. "Get your pet jet to help you while you're at it, too, will you Deadlock?"

Silver-blue optics narrowed as a low, steady growl built up from within the red mech's chest, hand twitching as he barely held back drawing a gun on the mission commander. "He's  _not_  a pet, Novastream. Never has been."

"My mistake. Your Bonded Prick of a Neutral Endura," she waved her hand in clear dismissal.

The mech smiled, fangs pointedly on display for several klicks more than necessary, then turned to head out of the room.

She waited until he was at the door. "Also?"

"Hmm?"

"Lock your doors."

"Pardon?" He glanced back at the femme.

She frowned at him. "Next time, it won't be  _me_  that walks in on your swordplay kink, and  _Invictus_  is quite unique. Or do  _you_  want to explain  _why_  we screwed this up?"

"Fine," came the growled response as the racer stalked out, door hissing shut behind him. Novastream shook her head, then turned her full attention to the bound mech under her. "Crossie, safeword?"

"NovaPrime," Crosshairs whispered, the Murdered Prime's glyphs slurred together slightly, and Novastream nodded, attuning her comms to it and setting up the overrides that would  _make_  her stop as soon as it was said. Slowly, she eased the gag into his mouth; safe and sane and he could stop this at any time he desired, just as she could if she felt he was in too deep to realise the danger to himself.

Trust on the deepest level that went both ways, and while the scene only called for loving, teasing touches that'd make her lover squirm, it was better to be  _safe_  in everything.

They both had too many demons to risk playing otherwise.

She hummed as she straddled him, claws splayed across his chest as she bumped her helm against his, their optics meeting. "Mine."

She shifted, claws lightly, carefully trailing over his frame. She was going to take her time and do this right. He was hers as much as she was his, and she'd do anything to see him happy.

* * *

The blue mech was easily the size of Sixshot, maybe taller, yet the mass, weight and sheer density of his armour proclaimed a class on his own. One of a kind, and he twitched against the modified, heavily anchored VVH before slumping. No amount of struggling would free him, yet it didn't mean he was going to give up, even if getting  _out_  of the box and up to the base itself would be impossible. It was miles under the surface, known only to a few, and he was running on nothing but the sludge they called energon and fumes at this point.

_Fragging slaggers._

And he was fresh out of cryostasis, weapons still offline, and now his spark was telling him there was another like him. Did the Autobots know? Creator, he hoped not. They'd take and twist the baby Vörður, or kill it; he hoped the baby had been found and was  _away_  from the machinations of his captors. That the Senix had found him, or one of his had.

The baby  _needed_  to be safe.

"Awake?"

"Hngg." Primus-blue optics tracked the small mech as it - they - climbed with lethal grace to the platform behind him. Something about the way they moved, how they held themselves - "Yer one of  _mine_...?!"

"Pardon?"

"A  _Veredi_." Or, as the crude and ugly translation was, Stalker. Frag, he hated Neo-Cybex and how ugly it was when translating his native language. A Kayuu-born Stalker by the looks of it, but hadn't they left Cybertron with the Senix, some of the Old Clans, and those who followed Megatron? (Decepticons. Megatron called them  _Decepticons_ , a fitting play on the original Primal word.

No - they were the  _Enemy_  -?) "Kayuu-"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." He heard the snckt of needles as the mech stopped behind him. "Now, let's see if I can't reset you back to the  _obedient soldier_  you were in the wars."

"The others couldn't-" But if they had a clearly 'washed Stalker doing this round of Mnemo... his Spark twisted in rage and anger. They were getting smarter, somewhat.

"I'm better than them, I assure you."

A feral smirk crossed Devcon's faceplates at the needles started to slide in. "No, you're not,  _spurii_. You won't succeed."

Because his mind was a jumbled, chaotic mess at the best of times; assuming the needles even made it through his plating, the brat behind him would be hard-pressed to do anything that wasn't surface level at best.

* * *

_"Do you know what this is?"_

_Sunlight danced over the holo as the twelve vorn sparkling peered at it in suspicion. "A sparkeater."_

_"No." A gentle flick to his helm. "This is a_ Veredi; _or, as we call them,_ Veiði _."_

 _"What's a_ Veiði? _" The glyphs felt strange and alien, like something from the Sky-Danger._

 _"A line of mechs that defend us from the_ Under _and all the creatures that lurk there. Mecha now known as_ Stalkers _. A very crude translation. This is the true form they take."_

 _"_ Under _." That wasn't a Leitandi word, yet it screamed Danger in a way that cut his spark. The sparkling made a note of it as he peered at the holo his sire held, studying the strange, not-sparkeater shape. "How can we_ trust _them?"_

 _"How can_ they _trust we'll protect our species from the Sky-Danger?"_

 _"But we will. It's what we were_ made _for, faðir!" Seeker red optics widened. "Oh, so they'll do it_ because _they were made for it? What if they turn against us?"_

 _"That's_ not _possible, Starscream."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because," Windsheer said as she pet her Heir's helm, wings shifting as he snuggled against her hard enough to mar her white and red with his magenta (much like his dam was fond of doing to the rest of the harem), "the_ Vörður _would_ never _turn on Cybertron. But," she said, folding the holo away then scooping the Seeker Heir into her arms. "We should get you ready."_

_He snuggled against his sire happily, blinking."For what?"_

_"You'll have guests soon," her smile was tinged with sorrow and loss. "It's been so long..."_

_"Who?"_

_Windsheer looked down at the curious face, remembering how young she'd been on meeting her Prime and Protector, of how tall and powerful they'd been. "Your_ Protector _and_ Prime _. Megatron and Nova Prime."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, reviews/comments/what-not much loved and wanted. Thanks for reading!


	18. New Kaon; one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tying things up in New Kaon, part one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  DJD, talk of addictions and withdrawal symptoms, thoughts of murder, depersonalisation, the start of semi-graphic complications of a very alien birth. OCs linked to canon characters.

**(of various things at New Kaon)**

"Get 'em to the pens," Barricade barked as he descended the gangway of the  _Dancing Blades_ ; his personal ship that had once, megavorns ago, belonged to the unlamented Fieldspar. Behind him, several of his soldiers scrambled to obey while others still tugged on the chains binding this lot of prisoners together. Other ships had the rest of them.

He could still feel the angry, hostile EM-fields, and he smirked, waving a lazy claw back to them, laughing as chains rattled and mechs attempted to access offlined weapons systems or the mods most of the 'Guard were famous for. "Foolish."

If any of them had a reply to that, he didn't hear it (or understand, having turned off the translations for Autobot to Decepticon), instead turning to the lanky cycle that was keeping pace by his side and holding out a datapad for him. "Sitrep and what we know so far, Sir."

"Gimme that," he snatched the hardcopy from the mecha, dismissing them with a wave as he turned his attention to the datapad, optics flicking over the data that gave him all he needed to know about the mess that was what remained of Lucifer. Not counting his own mechs, under eight hundred left. Counting the mechs under his command who'd stayed behind, there was just under seventeen hundred.

 _Wonderful_ , he thought darkly,  _should have tried to capture more instead of allowing everyone to have_ fun.

Oh well. The least he could do was make sure  _these_  hundred-odd ones remained functional enough for Lord Megatron's plans.

His spark sunk when it became clear the  _reason_  he was given this.

Casefield was dead, Straxus missing but presumed alive until further notice... Barricade hissed. He was now the effective Commander of what remained of Lucifer. Frag him to the pits and back, but he  _didn't_  want the headache. Being Third had been easy enough and still given him time to indulge in what his job had originally been: that of a frontliner Sparked for shock-tactics.

Becoming Second, or, Unicron on Primus, Commander of Lucifer would put a nasty dent in his free time for hobbies and leisure, though it would elevate the Stunticon's rank a bit more (as if they didn't have Rank enough  _already_ , being one of two intact Gestalts, and Megatron's favoured). Hnnn. Elevating the Rank would also elevate Knock Out's, and the Doctor's ego did  _not_  need another stoking.

Tch. If it happened, it happened, or maybe he could foist this off on Dino and still keep the official jump in Rank; the blue-white certainly had a head on him for paperwork. He'd see if he could do that, later. Right now, he needed to know the basics of what he was dealing with, and flicking through it, his spark grew heavier by the klick.

Most of Logistics was  _gone_. The energon division had been wiped out. The smelter crews were down to one mech who was in stasis right now; annoying because the specialised smelters on Lucifer  _hadn't_  just been for Straxus' personal tastes. Most of Medical was gone; those that survived were mostly the combat-medics, but that didn't lessen the blow of losing the surgeons and nurses or those who knew how to do the fiddly internal repairs, or who could actually run a medi-tent and  _keep it_  in order.

Engineering and most of the science crews had, by some blasted miracle, survived.

Intelligence and communications were plain gone; reports said they'd been targeted, and the more he read, the more Barricade agreed; this wasn't a random attack, and it could have been so, so much worse. What they had left was the Combat Units, and Special Ops wasn't Intel. Tactics was almost decimated, but they were alive.

To say nothing of the Combat Units that had been with the Evac, and he passed over it quickly, vents and fans hissing in time with the engine rumble of  _displeasure_.

What they had from Lucifer amounted a handful of barely functioning Units and more holes than they knew how to fill in the short term, even with his soldiers. Long-term, they'd recover the losses.  _Right now_  though, no. They couldn't afford to lose any more lives. The Autobots numbered into the triple millions, and they still had billions of stockpiled sparks in cold storage, many hidden under bases or deep in vaults across the Commonwealth.

Decepticons barely numbered into the middle double millions with most concentrated on Charr, New Kaon, or New Tarn, numbers steadily and reliably growing as newsparks were born into the ranks. He wasn't sure about the Seekers; last he heard, ' _Vos_ ' was sitting at three hundred thousand, and frag if he knew how many Stalkers were left. Maybe another hundred thousand? Perhaps it was time for another raid on the main vaults to boost numbers...

He grunted, filed the idea away, and flicked to the next section. A list of names, yet he recognised most of them, chuckling when he saw that Knock Out, Jacksaw, and Scalpel were amongst the medicals who's survived. Yet, some tension eased out of him while he made a note to politely suggest they work on a few more Gestalts.

More names he vaguely knew -

Earthbane, Dino, Bluestreak, Bladeswitch.

The shocktrooper exvented heavily. Thank Primus. He didn't know what he'd have done if he'd lost his creations or Second. Bluestreak, as trained as it was, was  _replaceable_ , even if the idea of finding another slave to train  _wasn't_  his idea of fun.

 _She_  and Voltage had survived too, and Barricade grimaced. Decepticons as a rule did not practice termination and with the only safe prevention method being the spark based slave-collar (which no Decepticon would  _willingly_  wear, even disabled), she was the ultimate accidental opps. Hopefully Megatron was pleased, but with how often the Lord Protector seemed to  _forget she existed_  only to remember and express displeasure with her. Likely not, but it could always be worse - like the brat being an  _Absolute_  Pacifist.

Oh well. Wasn't his problem right now. No, his was paperwork, and with a half snarled exvent, he stalked away from his crew and ship, trusting the rest of his Unit to secure everything.

The sooner he dealt with the blasted things, the sooner he could comm Dino and get a personal report on what happened, then go find his youngest.

* * *

"Finally," the red racer muttered as he saw sunlight again as the  _Hornet_ 's gangway opened. Once off the  _Tyranny_ , the trip had been uneventful and boring aside from answering a few questions from the crew, snarking with the 'medic' they had and briefly fussing over his four charges. He'd spent the rest of it curled around the bond to Breakdown, happily learning all the gossip.

It seemed Wildrider's newest reconfig landed him with a 'mohawk', Drag Strip had once again returned to the heels (fitting, given how much more mobility heel-mecha had over flatfoot-mecha), Dead End had chosen a muscle-car, and Motormaster was forever the same.

The vis-impulses of the altmodes were naturally stunning and bulky. Tough, robust things to match, but Breakdown's was the finest he'd seen. It matched that hammer all the correct ways he  _liked_.

He may have spent an inordinate amount of time detailing  _what_  he'd like to do to that frame.

Somehow, Breakdown made being dirty and scratched alluring and worth it and frag if his plug didn't ache for that port and the coppercoils within it and the pins at the end and his Bonded's plug in his port and maybe some sparkplay -

He'd have to spark-off sooner rather than later, hopefully without his hangers-on around;  _he_  certainly wasn't getting the slag beaten out of him for exposing them to something their creators or caretakers should be dealing with.

That wasn't all though; Breakdown had complained, heavily, about the 'no engaging the Autobots' order, but Megatron  _had_  warned them, and Primus help anyone  _stupid_  enough to disobey and bring Motormaster's legendary ire upon them. Nevermind Megatron's temper. The gestalt may have settled and matured in the long vorns since they'd met - since the Stunticons had been created - yet some things remained the same no matter how old they were.

Privately, Knock Out thought it was enough for Breakdown to know Lord Megatron might be watching. Yet for some of the others - namely Wildrider - Motormaster's considerable wrath was also a nice deterrent.

At least he wasn't there with them, trapesing through sewers like maintenance. Who knew what that kind of organic filth would do to his finish.

Ick. Best not think of it, or the thread of laughter filtering down the Bond.

_/Wait 'til I have my claws on you-/_

_/Bring it, Outty./_

Oh, he would, he thought with a sly smirk, but not now.

"Come," he motioned for the trio to follow. The first thing he was doing was dropping them all off at the nearest medi-tent to be looked over, Lyzack and Bombshell especially, and get the blasted pain in his Spark sorted out. While he doubted it was anything more than spark-shock, he couldn't be entirely sure. More to the point, he wasn't a fully trained obstetrician. He was a  _Doctor_ ; general field surgeon, if you wanted to be exact, who knew enough about carriage to be of  _some_  use in that field.

"'kay," Aimless whispered, one hand up to block the blinding white-yellow sunlight as he followed Knock Out; Bombshell grabbed the doctor's free hand, while Wreckage walked behind them, as if guarding their backs. Lyzack simply clung to Knock Out.

Knock Out thought it hilarious, but who was he to discourage such instincts in a Combat-class. Plus, it seemed to soothe him to be 'useful'.

He was halfway down the gangway when the pulse of spark-searing  ** _pain_**  assaulted him. He staggered forth, shoving Lyzack into the nearest mech's hands as another pulse rocked him. It drove him to his knees as a hand clawed at sparkplates, optics blinking out to the pale rusty-carmine of distress and alarm; against black sclera, it was  _disturbing_  and  _wrong_. Another pulse, this one stronger yet; he refused to scream even as he curled inwards, trembling. He wasn't weak, he wasn't weak but Primus Beyond, this  ** _hurt_**  -

His Spark was on  _fire_ , lightning lancing between it and the newspark, threatening to separate – or worse, sunder and gutter – it.

Another pulse and  _panic_  flooded wholly flooded his systems. He was distantly aware of Breakdown driving into a wall, the mech screeching down the bond, of the hurt and pain and confusion - it was  _nothing_  compared to what he felt now. He shrieked as sparkplates attempted to iris open, even as he triggered override after  _override_  while lurid, neon energon-pink warnings flashed across the HUD as the sparkplates slowly, painfully spiralled open against his will.

Pain cascaded down as his world seemed to crash in the most horrifyingly painful way  _possible_.

Something touched him. He glanced up and dismissed the medics crowded around him. No, his optics locked onto the back of a slave he  _knew_  was carrying. His gun was in his hand and fired before anyone had the chance to react. How dare it keep its sparkling -  _HOW DARE IT_  –

Another lightning fire lashed his spark and he was screaming again, thrashing this time as he fought off the hands attempting to restrain him. He could feel the newspark's distress and fear and pain through the link, he could feel it guttering and dying. Nono –  _NO. PRIMUS_ _ **NO**_. It was stable, it was alive – he couldn't lose it. Please please  _please_  no he  _wanted_  it. It'd taken them a gigavorn to spark-kindle and this was the  _first_  and they'd be wonderful caretakers and he'd  _give up_  his paintjob and finish just so  _it lived_  -

His sparkplates squealed, mechanisms stalling as something forced them closed, as something touched his - their sparks, calming them. Outlier? Maybe... He didn't know who. Tarn wasn't due to New Kaon too...? He couldn't think, couldn't feel. Was that a blocker? It felt nice. No pain, even if his HUD was awash with alerts telling him  _how screwed_  he was. Vaguely he was aware of being forced onto a gurney by one mech - his CPU would later supply the fuzzy image of the telekinetic Outlier equal in power to the late Soundwave and Tarn-, of being strapped down so he wouldn't harm himself further.

Something  _kept_  his sparkplates from irising open in preparation of the birth.  _It was too soon_  –

Calm hit him like a particularly thick hammer. A well-known, well fondled thick hammer. Oh. It wasn't blockers, it was Breakdown. He scrambled for it, clinging to the steady, calm presses of his Bonded, of his Endura. Distantly he was aware of the rest of his Bonded's Gestalt. Distantly, he knew there was  _nothing_  he could do to stop what was happening.

Something pricked his neck –

 _Anything_  to keep his sparkling  _please_  –

-and the world rezzed to white as, finally, the pain blockers took effect.

* * *

"Don't have to shove-" the Cadet whined as it stumbled on the gangway.

" _Then walk_ _ **faster**_ ," Tarn hissed at the two Cadets that walked in front of him, already tissue-thin patience almost at snapping point. The megacycle had been unpleasantly trying at best, and he needed a Fix.  _Any Fix_. The blessed relief that transformations would bring. The cool slide of nuke down his intakes, or feeling a mech's intake crunch under purple claws, or even the desperate screams for mercy as he sang to their sparks.

Oh. He wasn't supposed to inflict his gift on  _these_  Cadets, even if the wide opticed jumps had been amusing. A drop in the bucket of Fix-Need.

"W-We can only go so fast, sir," the second of the pair stuttered, head ducked, rotorblades doing an exceptional job of becoming one with her backplating.

"Yes, of course," Tarn dropped his voice back to normal with a slow, controlled exvent; harming them again - one of them, at least - would earn him negative goodie points with Lord Protector Megatron. They'd only stayed on the  _Tyranny_  because one was their Lord's get, the other, arguably the bodyguard now the last one had died, and of a similar (if headache-inducing any time the creators meet in-person) rank in the Command-Brat hierarchy. If it were up to Tarn, he'd drop the get onto one of the ice-planets and be done with the useless pacifist thing.

Of course, he kept that opinion to himself, purely out of respect for the Lord Protector, even if he was aware of how displeased his master was at his get. Tarn didn't know, or care for, Flamewar's opinion on the whole thing.

He was  _not_ , as she'd once put it,  _jealous_. All Lord Megatron had to do was summon him, and he'd happily,  _without_  complaint, be a berthmate or carry a spawn or the like. That Flamewar had was simply  _unacceptable_. So, no, he was  _not_   _jealous_ , thank you very much.

He knew the pair were mindful of the cold, malevolent gaze on their backs, of how his claws twitched, of the Need that coursed through his 'field; instead, he yanked on the chain binding the prisoners harder than he should have, mask hiding the smirk at the yelps and stumbles and how the Cadet's pace had inexplicably hastened.  _Good_. The sooner he was free of them,  _the better_. Another yank on the chain earned more yelps and the 'fields of fear had deepened from the prisoners.

No, these were no mere prisoners but captured  _traitors_  who'd aided in the attack on the  _Iron Breach_  and the murder of their fellow Decepticons. Five, one for each of his team, and they'd be  _suffering_  for the attack.

Tarn had promised the survivors who'd caught them that much when the traitors had been handed over.

 _Why_  they'd done it didn't matter now. Greed, credits, personal hatred... none of that mattered in the end. Oh, it'd be  _nice_  to find out why, but it wasn't truly needed. Maybe he'd save the cortexes for the Mnemos; Lord Megatron would be pleased with any information they got from them.

He pushed it from his processor as heavy chains and sullen footfalls on the gangway out of time with the rest announced the other prisoner's arrival, Helex leading him. Tarn was not surprised; the jet would soon be patching their victims up so they could extend the Playtime. Carelessly, he tossed the chain he'd been yanking on to Tesarus with a nod.

Tarn had other things on his CPU than leading a bunch of traitors he'd rather turn around and inflict grievous bodily harm to.

Neutral blue optics blinked, locked onto anything that wasn't the underbelly of the  _Tyranny_  or the Decepticons that dominated, rightfully and wholly so, the landscape. "Now  _this_  is a sky..."

"One that you shall  _not_  fly. Must I clip these wings  _again_..." Tarn murmured, idly stroking one of his prize's wings (the entire reason he'd kept the jet alive, outside the medical skills that complimented Nickel's), optics brightening when the thing pulled away. " _Now, now_ ,  _Pharma_..."

It was a warning the Neutral-turned-Autobot-turned-Warning knew all too well; his helm ducked and he held still under the touches. Tarn chuckled, allowing a lick of pleasure to skate across the other's spark, all gentle touches as if a breeze of warm air. He really couldn't help it; he enjoyed hearing the rumours about what he and his team  _did_  to the jet. The humiliation on his prize's face was rewarding.

All baseless of course; his taste did not run the likes of jets - or towards interfacing  _at all_. " _Pharma_...?"

"Yes, Master?" The words were spat, even as the jet dared glance up. Even after the long megavorns, the jet still had its pride.

Tarn cupped his chin, and knowing they had onlookers, leant in, voice low and dangerous. "I fear you have  _forgotten_  your manners,  _Traitor-Neutral_. "

"No-nonono - I-" Pharma's spark danced to a staccato of fear under Tarn's voice, even as the owner's wings pinioned against plating, anything to make himself smaller and stop the pain that was building. "Master - I - T-thank you for -for letting me off ship."

Tarn stared at the jet, then with a hidden smirk released both his spark and him, hand dragging down over plating, leaving scratches deep enough to sting before turning and walking away, pausing only to frown, optics narrowing. Somewhere in between playing with his prize (and feeling  _marginally_  better for it), he'd lost the two Cadets.

Really? as if his megacycle could not become  _worse_.

_/Did you see where they vanished too?/_

_/To the gaggle of Cadets and younglings,/_  came Helex's report and Tarn's gaze tracked to the knot that was where most of the survivors had headed.

Hmph. Good. The less he dealt with the get, the better, yet knowing where they were was good, too, in case his Lord decided to ask after his daughter's welfare. He doubted it; the short comm to Megatron had been proof of that. The get was alive, unharmed, and that was  _all_  he cared for.

Mentally shaking himself and ignoring the harsh stab of Flamewar's ' _Jealous much, Tarn_?' his cortex threw at him, he waved for Helex to follow, starting off again, this time with a whistle and a few stretches of his t-cog for good measure, feeling the calming bliss spread bloom in his mind.

Tesarus had headed with the traitors to the Central Clearing with Nickel and the Pet following. Kaon had already made himself scarce, ostensibly towards the same location or the nearest Intel-tent to drop hardcopies of their data on the wreckage of the  _Iron Breach_. Vos was likely with Kaon; he hoped so, but no matter. It was past time they were at the clearing for the main event.

He didn't get far before a commotion broke out around the  _Hornet_  - Tenuto's old ship, if he recalled correctly with a slight scowl-, medical personnel rushing to aid the screaming mech. In a fit of curiosity - it wasn't every vorn a mech collapsed screaming and clawing their chest without outside 'aid' - Tarn headed in that direction, knowing Helex was following with the jet.

Idly, he noticed Krok was hovering; one of the mech's Unit? A glance at the Infratags told him no. Perhaps a friend on the ship. It mattered not.

Medical personnel scurried around, throwing around words he barely understood, yet one thing stood out: Knock Out was undergoing premature separation.

_Wonderful._

"How may I aid?" Tarn asked, stepping forth; to the medics credit, they didn't startle at his appearance or voice. He was a killer and executioner and needed his Fix, but damn if he'd stand by and allow the innocent life of a Decepticon newspark to snuff out. (If it'd been an  _Autobot_  one...)

"Keep them  _calm_. The fool's Bonded to a gestaltmember." One of the medics snapped as he narrowly avoided one of the flailing, panicked limbs.

Tarn nodded, deciding they'd likely looked up public medical records, and started to hum; they were lucky he knew  _how_  to calm a spark, not just kill. That he  _wished_  to help.

Eventually, one of the medics signalled him to stop; apparently, the patient was stable enough they didn't need him anymore. Good, because this was  _not_  what he wanted to use his gift for right now. "You may wish to avoid the CC."

"And miss the fiz get narking dues?" one of the medics retorted with a savage grin a tad out of place.

Tran inclined his head in a slight nod of approval, then took his leave, flawlessly transforming as he headed towards where Helex and Pharma waited. Another rotation of the t-cog, and Tarn was striding forth, humming a few bars of an old classic. Reaching out, he snared one of those pretty wings, using it to pull Pharma behind him as they walked.

"Too fast-!"

Tarn's engine ticked over methodically as a growl/snarl built, the grip turning to do more than inflict pain; he'd wrench it off and feed it to him if Pharma did not keep up with the harsh, punishing pace.

Helex's snickers were but an added bonus to the whimpers, and whenever Tarn shifted to tank, the pace was even faster, harsher.

It wasn't enough to sate the Need, but it would  _do_  until he could have that glorious Fix.

* * *

The kin-bond flared to life like a welcome, wanted thing, reminding him he was not a harsh, sparkless Decepticon. :: _We have them._ ::

:: _Good._ ::

:: _Is the sparkling yours?_ ::

:: _Of course. You know I have a role to play._ ::

:: _I'll put it with the other two._ ::

:: _They'll enjoy the new friend._ ::

A noise of non-commital. :: _Riverside'll keep them safe until you return._ ::

:: _Your concubine does have a way with them..._ ::

:: _Not_ _a concubine; paid servant that is bound to my name no thanks to our Caretaker._ ::

An age-old argument between the two Nobles merited the age old response. :: _Of course, 'Raj._ ::

The kin-bond faded into the background as the spy drained the rest of his cube, idly watching the black-and-green medic work on Bladeswitch's injury. Beside him, a slave sat, helm bowed as it took a chance to rest.

Dino let him, and tried not to think of the other news he'd found out from the medic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost every canon 'Con has a lineage of some fashion, even if it's only two generations long; one of Barricade's creators was a tank.


	19. New Kaon; two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tying loose ends up at New Kaon, part two.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  Talk of some less-than-stellar parenting, PTSD type things in Cadets/kids, and slight depersonalization of living people going on, too.

**(of yet more things at New Kaon)**

Almost as soon as they'd landed, she'd been herded towards the fast-growing knot of Lucifern survivors, Dino leaving her in the care of another Officer while he dragged the slave with him to find the nearest medi-tent set up to treat sparklings as young as Bladeswitch. Earthbane didn't really care; she was numb and silent as she sat, optics dull, despondent under the visor. Her treads hurt, her plating and struts and wires and turret too, and her spark hurt.

She didn't know how to memory purge what she'd seen.

Her world had fallen apart, and she desperately wanted both her creators to hold her. Hold her and tell her everything was  _gonna be ok_ , even though it  _wasn't_.

_Her Unit was-_

" _Earthy_ -?" A rough and tumble voice cut through the crowd like a sonicwave laced with electricity. It might as well have been judging how several flinched back.

She  _knew_  that obnoxiously loud voice.

" ** _VOLTAGE_**!" Earthbane was on her feet and barrelling towards him in altmode before any of the Superiors tasked with keeping Cadets in line could stop her. The best they could do was make a path and look on in amusement. Cadets could be a force of nature, and right now, they weren't going to deny any of the Iron Breach Cadet-Units from reuniting. Not when it was becoming painfully clear few Units survived intact.

Some hadn't made it at all.

Already, many in Commanding positions were calling for energon and retaliation against one of the Autobot civilian towns or cities, yet others were calling for them to remember the Laws of War and the Accord and find the Support-structures for the Military. Rumours said even Krok was up in arms, which was saying something about the normally calm, patient tactician.

The youngest - including the youngest Cadets - had clustered around Officers, almost clinging to them while they waited for the rest of the ships to come in. For Actual Superiors or Mentors or creators or caretakers to find them; she'd vaguely heard her sire's ship named at some point, but couldn't spot it. Yet, it wasn't only them; Supportmecha were following warriors like turbo puppies, or warriors had herded them in huddled groups under tarps and cloth that were supposed to be vaguely tent-like things and stood guard, twitching if anyone even looked at those they guarded wrong.

Everyone was twitchy, yet so far, no actual fights had broken out.  _Yet_.

She  _knew_  it would happen; there was no denying it, even if they were looking out for each other in the only way they knew how: let the warriors sooth rattled code by standing guard. Let the 'civilians' sooth rattled code by clustering around a warrior for protection. Everyone was military, yet coding reacted differently in every mecha.

At some point she'd seen Misfire dragging Fulcrum towards one of the better set up areas.

_"Come on, pinhead."_

_"But I have_ _**work** _ _to do-"_

_"Nope, it's drinking time, loser!"_

_"_ _**MISFIRE** _ _!"_

It'd been kinda funny at the time.

Even the slaves who'd survived clustered around the Decepticons or stuck close to their owners, who were content to allow it  _for now_. It was easier to deal with, and these slaves were permanents; they knew the rules. If one was sent out on a fetch-order, a Decepticon went with them.

To make sure they didn't try anything, of course, because  _everyone_  knew slaves, even the longest lasting permanents, were  _replaceable_.

None of that mattered to Earthbane; she knew the adults and those in charge would take care of everything like they always did and they'd make it Safe. With a whirl of the t-cog, she skidded to a halt before the tank and doublebladed helio, almost flattening them with a tackle-hug. "Voltage, Cease Fire. You warheads  _survived_!?"

"Yea."

"What ship did you come in on?" She asked, peering at them in earnestly.

"Uh... the  _Peaceful Tyranny_." Cease Fire's shoulders hunched, and Voltage suddenly found the sky Very Interesting.

"Oh... I came in on the  _W.A.P_." Earthbane stated with a shrug as she silently pitied her more politically and Rank important friends.

"Isn't that the ship with your-?"

"Yes. He and Sire don't get along much." Voltage's mouth twisted in a frown even he hunched, treads trying to become one with plating. No-one asked why he hadn't been on the  _W.A.P_ ; they all knew the petty reason.

"Yea, I guess..." Earthbane said, flapping a hand as if to dispell the weird mood. What Officers were feuding wasn't that important right now, and that gossip mill could wait. "Bluestreak pulled me away–"

"We saw," Voltage nodded, tension draining out of his frame and relief bleeding across his EM-field as he very obviously looked her over, nodding when he found she was only dinged and dented, anything else hidden under welds. "I'm glad."

"How-"

"Whirlybird," Cease Fire whispered, hunching with a ragged ventilation intake, blades clattering against her back. "He gave his life so I- I should have – I'm  _useless_  in battle-"

"W-what. But – You- He-" Earthbane stopped, unable to comprehend that the only Autobot she'd ever remotely liked was dead. When Cease Fire nodded mutely, Earthbane grabbed her, wrapping the smaller pacifist in a strut-crushing hug. No-one upset her friend. "You're  _not_  useless. Anyone who tells you that is gonna face me and 'tage."

" _Yea_!" Voltage said with a wicked grin, claws flexing at his sides. "We'll tear 'em a new exhaust and shove a facin' toy up it. You know, one that goes  _boom_."

"F'me?" When Earthbane nodded, Cease Fire giggled, wrapping her arms around the larger. "He carked it fightin'. Can we... post-death free him?"

Voltage shifted in thought at the idea. "He was a good guard for 'Fire. Perfectly Loyal, too."

"I-Maybe...?" Earthbane frowned. "Cast Iron's the expert 'cause  _nerd_." She cast her optics around for said 'nerd'. "Where is he?"

Voltage's colours near-literally turned a sickly shade of yellow, purple and orange. "He – He went up against Black Shadow himself."

"Wh-what?"

"To buy us time. He..."

"But-But – but he's a  _'Sixer_ -" Earthbane shook her head in denial as she released Cease Fire and took a few steps back. She sunk to her knees, plating rattling as her engines hitched. "He – They're  _impossible_  to destroy-"

Everyone knew that. The oldest known 'Sixer was Warmonger, and he was like, eleventy billion vorns  _old_  with all the stories of the Ages and he'd  _never_  once needed serious repairs.

"I saw it, 'Bane! That insane 'Sixer laughed. Called him weak and worthless as he was ripped limb from limb." Voltage's hand cut through the air in anger. "He's  _gone_. So's the rest of the Unit."

" _No_..." She shook her head in denial, rocking back and forth as intakes hitched and vents shuddered. " ** _No_**..."

"They  _made us_  get out – they pushed  _me_  first," Cease Fire whispered. "I tried t'drag Cassegrain and Batwing, but–"

Earthbane's systems hitched as her engine spun uselessly as it tried, and failed, to hold back her sobs. Cassegrain, Batwing, Cast Iron, Clicker, and Kill Switch were  _dead_. Most of her Unit - her best friends were dead, and she didn't dare ask about the Unit that had been Mentoring them.

They'd died; she'd  _seen_  Clearshock's head cleaved in by a defector turned traitor, heard his Bonded's scream of fury and heard the cries of the Pit-bound as Drillchink had taken out all she could before she succumbed to the death-shock of a broken Bond.

"'course they made  _you_  get out.  _He's_  your Sire."

"And he doesn't  _care_. I'm useless  _and_  a  _disappointment_ ," Cease Fire hissed as she attempted to make herself yet smaller still - a feat she wasn't quite capable of now. "Even Tarn thinks so, and I'm pretty sure Carrier thinks so  _too_ , for all I see her..."

"I-it doesn't matter," Voltage said firmly, yet his voice shook. It wouldn't be long now before all three were no longer Cadets, and he had an awful, awful feeling Tarn would call for Cease Fire to be sent out to the frontlines, regardless of what was  _proper_  for pacifists like her, combat-medic or no. If they could get her to accept defencism... accept the idea that one day she  _would_  have to defend herself with it because she had no other means, and her words wouldn't always work. Pit, it'd probably be  _safer_  for her to go Neutral. Probably. But until then... "We  _lived_ , and if he's not proud of that, th-then he's not worthy of being  _your_  Sire."

"You don't ha'room t'talk.  _Your_  Sire was proud..."

"If you'd call it  _that_..." Voltage shivered. Proud? Yea, if that pride extended further than ' _the accessory had lived_ '.

"Vol's right. W-we lived; that's all that matters. Frag your Sires. You  _lived_!" Blindly, Earthbane reached for Voltage and Cease Fire, pulling them down, hands possessive, needy, uncaring of how many PDA signals she was giving out. Wanting them forever. They were hers; she was theirs, and they were the last of the Unit. The other five were  _dead_. She clung to Voltage, face buried against his armour, though it did little to muffle the noises of sparkbroken Cadets as battle-coding finally started to drain out of their systems, opening them to the true horrors of what they'd seen, what they'd  _lived_  through. Managed to bring their friend through when by rights, had her Sire not been  _who_  he was, she'd have been left to her fate. They'd seen it happen before, and words or not, Cease Fire wouldn't have survived. "I want him  _dead_.  _I want him dead_. I- - He could have  _saved us_. More of us.  _I want him_ _ **dead**_ -"

They didn't ask who he was, and Cease Fire couldn't quite disagree with the idea even if it flew in the face of her (very shaken) morals.

They stayed a huddled, clingy knot until Voltage heard steps coming towards, not around, them. Lifting his head, he smiled over Earthbane's shoulder at the approaching slave and the warrior with it. Without optics, it was creepy; with optics, it was downright terrifying. He  _was_  his Sire's creation, even accidental, and the slave's terrified flinch brightened his megacycle.

"Will she be alright?" Dino asked, staring down at the Cadets as he came to a stop before them.

"Yessir," Voltage nodded, carmine optics locked onto the slave, noting the napping form of Bladeswitch in its arms.

Noting the fresh weld on her leg.

"She's  _hurt_?" It wasn't really a question; claws flexed and carmine optics glinted with malice as Voltage glanced at the slave again.

"Duh, 'cos of tha'thing." Earthbane snapped, face twisting into an ugly scowl that turned into a sneer when Bluestreak flinched back under the glare of two Decepticon frontliners.

"Enough, Cadets." Dino snapped back; optics narrowed to mere slits of colours until the pair of frontliners backed down, armour clamping down in an attempt to appear smaller in front of a Superior Officer. "She's alive. Be  _grateful_  for that much."

"Yes, sir."

"Sir, you didn't find us just to reprimand us?" Cease Fire asked hesitantly, all but squeaking when Dino's cool gaze fell on her. Both Voltage and Earthbane fought down the too-real, too jumpy coding that demanded they shove  _their_  combat-medic behind them. That would not help; not after the dressing down they'd just received, and the last thing they wanted was to defend against the arm-blades Dino was known for using in the Discipline he imparted on Unruly Subordinates.

"No, I didn't." He tilted his helm a fraction. "I've secured a tent for us, Earthbane. Join us?"

"I-I'll join you later," Earthbane said, not at all ashamed of how she was still somewhat clinging to her friends – the remains of her Unit. Dino nodded, and pinged her a map with the location marked in the universal gold-safety 'H'. "Dino?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell Dam it  _failed_."

"... Of course," Dino said diplomatically, though Voltage could tell the warrior wouldn't. The Command-Brat decided he'd get the details later when his frontliner wasn't an emotional wreck, and his combat-medic wasn't on the verge of self-shutdown.

When  _he_  wasn't still reeling from everything ever and the world he knew turning upside down and spitting him out.

"...Thanks," Earthbane muttered as her Dam's blue-white Second headed off, Bluestreak trailing obediently behind him. "Wanna go find one of the practice fields and watch for a while?"

"Sure." Voltage shrugged as Cease Fire nodded. "We could -"

 _/There'll be a show in half a cycle,/_  his Sire's voice crackled like a lightning whip across his comms.  _/I trust you'll_ be _there, get./_

 _/Yes, sir./_  Like frag he was going to disobey his Sire.

He didn't realise he was shaking until Earthbane called his name. He forced a smile to his face as he hurried after them. "'m fine. Um. We need t'go to t'CC."

Ignoring his friends' looks, he folded down into altmode, and headed that way, fully expecting them to follow. He wasn't ok, but at least driving through New Kaon hid the shaking well enough, hid how his tank churned and how much he did  _not_  want to see the promised 'show'-

 _/Why?/_  Cease Fire's comm cut into his thoughts.

_/My Sire's orders./_

* * *

"'Tor! Cre-tor-"

At the Sparked sparkling's attempted vocalisations tore Dino's attention way from the datapad he'd been reading; some frivolous story written in the Age of Expansion about the Noble Prime and her Knight; entertaining but highly inaccurate. The concentration his charge put into making sure she said each glyph was cute. The result of the slower learning process, Dino had learned over time, was sometimes  _better_  left to the imagination. Thankfully, this one wasn't.

He frowned slightly, then followed the waving claws in the general direction of the tent's entrance. Ah. Barricade would be here soon.

Dino checked his EM-field on reflex, even though he knew he betrayed nothing. "Bladeswitch?"

It was loud enough to startle the slave out of its rest against one of the tent poles. It looked up and around, optics wide with terror - it  _had_  been napping when not allowed after all. Dino gave a fanged grin in its direction, chuckling when it ducked its head with an engine whimper, doorwings angled down and pressed flat against its back. Pity he'd not been able to get it out as well, but he'd been pushing it with the two he had gotten out this megacycle, and the last thing he wanted was to come under suspicion for the disappearance of a slave owned by a High Ranking Decepticon. A slave said Decepticon and his mate both favoured enough to keep long-term.

Dino  _didn't_  have a death wish, thank you very much.

"Come 'tor." She repeated with a sage nod, clapping her hands while the slave's head snapped up then cocked to the side, EM-field letting out a bleat of fear. Bladeswitch didn't seem to notice as she bounced happily on the slave's lap, half squealing in happiness. "Tor! Getget? Play Play? More?"

"Remain seated," Dino ordered the slave as it made to stand, ignoring the look of gratitude. Of course he'd have the Autobot seated. It was freshly repaired; there was no need to stress the welds any sooner than they'd be stressed, and Dino-the-Decepticon at least, wasn't in the business of causing  _other's_  property undue pain or damage. On confirmation of the steps outside the entrance, he sent a quick ping-greeting to Barricade.

He  _was_  a faithful Unit-Second and slave-minder. Occasional sparklingsitter, too, for when Barricade and/or Wildrider sometimes dragged the slave away for 'play time'.

Bladeswitch literally squirmed off the slave's lap and attempted to walk to her sire when he entered. She took five teetering steps and fell flat on her aft. Optics wide, she stared around for several kliks before her vocaliser let loose a wail of utter dismay. Why couldn't she walk? She wanted to walk and  _yesterday_. This wasn't fair! She was big and strong, and she should be able to walk like the fierce Decepticon she  _was_!

(She was small and helpless, a literal baby. She'd grow soon enough and join her agemates in all kinds of antics only vornlings could create. For now, her systems needed time to calibrate all the information they were getting.)

Dino had to check himself when Barricade had her in his arms within a klik, claws gentle, careful, as they soothed her. "Hush, brat."

No matter how many times he'd seen Barricade interact with both his spawn (or his Unit, or other Decepticons outside of violence for that matter), it was still strange. Absurdly weird and far too domestic for the spy's tastes, no Decepticon should be capable of this... domesticity.

"Cre-tar wa-walk? play play?" The sparkling said, doing her very best to pronounce her glyphs, then she pointed to Dino before returning to pat her sire's face - chin - several times. "Boomboomboom. Maksafe?" She pointed to Bluestreak next with her free hand, the other one using Barricade's lip as a handhold. It didn't seem to bother the Decepticon as he quirked an optic ridge at his creation. "P'tek 'Babane. Nenekburn?"

Dino blinked, and Barricade nodded after carefully removing his brat's hand from his face; it didn't take much to parse a sparkling's attempts at the complicated mess that was the Decepticon language. "Smart goodie. I heard you needed a doctor."

Bladeswitch blinked. "Da-tar?"

Barricade nodded. "Makes your booboo's go away. Like Knock Out."

"Yes yes," She nodded, patting her sire's chest with tiny, tiny claws. "Go'! Da-tar say ny lots. Sparhurt?"

"Sparhurt?" Barricade peered at his youngest, frown crossing his face as he tried to parse the meaning, upper optics drifting to the cringing slave while the main pair stayed on Bladeswitch. "Spark hurt?"

What –

"Ah. I  _think_  I know what she means." Dino said; like pit he was getting to medical talk on Outliers or the very real,  _very_  serious and deadly ramification that it had for Bladeswitch  _if_  she used her gift again before her spark could support it. They'd gotten lucky - how, no-one knew, only that they had. Only one out of seventeen on spark-support. He had no desire to feel his Commander's claws in him again, because that's what'd happen if Barricade found out from any but a medic. "Knock Out went into separation early."

Barricade froze, optics narrowing. "Is he - _do_  you know?"

"Last I saw, he was on a gurney being rushed to medical as they screamed for an Obst and two protoforms." Dino winced, and it wasn't even an act. He knew how much most Decepticons valued what they Sparked.

Barricade's free hand clenched as a dark, angry rumble ripped from his engine that was forcibly stilled on Bladeswitch's frightened whimper, the sparkling curling in on herself. "He was so happy about it. A giga –  _two_?"

To see shock on the Decepticon was an oddly gratifying thing, even if Barricade looked a little ridiculous. "Yes."

"Lucky fragger," Barricade glanced down at Bladeswitch, optics dimming before glancing to the slave with a contemplative look before smirking. "Think me or 'Rider could get it or one of us with twins?"

"I dunno." And that was the truth; how the pit would he know? He wasn't a medical bot.

"Hnn. I got enough brats right now anyway." Unbidden, the Third of Lucifer brought his hand up, half shielding the tiny, delicate femme to her squeals of delight as she gripped his claws, mouth latching onto one to nibble and chew, optics bright and happy. Dino echoed Barricade's roll of the optics. Young sparklings and the need to shove  _everything_  into their mouths. Barricade exvented, shifting so his creation wouldn't harm herself as she mouthed and gripped the claws. "He arrived in distress then." They both knew Knockout wasn't 'due' for another half orn. "Is he the only one?"

"No. A number of carriers arrived in distress." Including one of his slaves he'd kept, whom Knock Out had shot in the back. To say Dino was unhappy was an understatement; he'd been playing the part of 'Con for a gigavorn, half of that in Barricade's Unit climbing rank; long enough that he wanted to have a Sparked sparkling he could truthfully call his, even if the circumstances weren't even  _remotely_  ideal. Somemegacycles, it was hard to remember he was an Autobot spy. "I need to be  _out there_. Fighting. Finding the slaggers who did this."

"I need you  _here_ , Second." Barricade overlaid the rank with enough possessive glyphs to have Dino visibly recoil, denta bared in anger, even as his commander smirked. "With Casefield dead, I've moved up to Second, and with Lord Straxus MIA..."

Barricade's grimace said it all; he was so very  _not_  pleased by all the paperwork he'd now become responsible for. Yet Dino was so very,  _very pleased_.

"I understand, Sir." Dino frowned, plating itching from the possessiveness his 'boss' showed, but he couldn't go against Barricade's word. Doing so was suicide, and he was almost certain there would be an army of Admin-support to aid the Unit by the time Barricade was done settling to his rank. Some warriors enjoyed the paperwork, most did not, and Barricade outright loathed it.

Dino had some good rants and tableflips on memory file, rants that normally ended in the rest of the Unit dealing with the paperwork. Not that Dino complained much.

"Good." Barricade shifted his grip on Bladeswitch and carefully freed his claws from her mouth. She whimpered, but soon settled on mouthing at her own claws with happy sounds. He paced over to where his slave sat, trembling under the unreadable attention of his master. "You did good, pet."

The slave's head shot up, optics wide but the relief was clear as day as the backs of claws brushed over his neck, the collar, jawline, then finally resting on the mech's helm and chevron. Dino knew this was a purely  _positive_  based gesture; the slave was well trained, and good behaviour  _had_  to be reinforced somehow. The slave slowly relaxed into its master's gentle petting with a happy, contented exvent, 'field evening out to something that could be called relaxed.

Then the Autobot slave found himself with an armful of protesting sparkling who soon latched onto the slave's fingers with a contented coo. At the blink, Barricade laughed. "Take her to the creche. The parks. Play with her. You earned some 'off time', Bluestreak. Use it well."

Dino mentally grimaced. He'd been trying to avoid thinking of its name. Fragit all; if he avoided the names, he avoided getting attached and potentially blowing his cover. Cruel? yes. Practical in his line of work?  _Very much a_ _ **yes.**_  Getting friendly with a tool happened, but it happened over vorns, not over megacycles or orns, and you still had to keep in mind  _where_  you were at all times.

Bluestreak nodded, standing and hesitantly taking a few steps closer to his master and turning so the Decepticon had better access to the newly restored doorwings. Barricade smirked and ran his claws across the joints, smiling at what had to be a tremble from the slave.  _Poor thing_ , Dino thought,  _but well trained_. Barricade's claws dropped, and the slave's head shot up to blink at its master. Barricade smiled. " _Don't_  stress the welds, Bluestreak."

As Bluestreak hurried out, nodding to whatever Bladeswitch was saying, Barricade turned back to Dino and shrugged. "You want 'im for th' night?"

Dino blinked before a smile crossed his face. It wasn't pleasant. "I do not mind. May I ask...?"

"Tarn and his crew are here," Barricade's optics lit up as a razor-sharp smile crossed his face.

"Ah..." Dino nodded in understanding. If he didn't know better, he'd say Barricade  _idolised_  Megatron's Executioner.

"There's going to be a show-cast soon, and Tarn's willing to let me play  _if_  I'm nice enough." Barricade preened, and Dino had to override the roll of his optics, twice. He'd learned very fast that Barricade's version of respect was fast and loose and suited his moods. He nodded with a hum. "What of Earthbane?"

"Staying close to what remains of her Unit. Rumour has it they've already got more guards on it," Dino wasn't that fussed about it. It was, Dino mused silently, a very real pity Megatron didn't seem to care about his own offspring. It would have made a nice bargaining chip at forcing the Decepticons to stop attacking their outer colonies. If they could figure out  _who_  the carrier was, then maybe it still might be.

Rumour painted it as either Tarn or Flamewar. At least they could rule Soundwave out; the mecha had fallen not long before the Offical End of the War. But that wasn't his job.

The shocktrooper hrumphed with a snort before giving the Iaconian a look over, then placing a hand over his Second's spark. It was, Dino knew, a gesture of Unitship and solidarity; probably born in the pits of Kaon or on the sides of the Shattered Rift Mountains; either way, far from the civility of Iacon. "You ok, soldier?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm a warrior. This'll pass soon enough."  _No_ , he thought privately even as Barricade nodded, claws dropping back to his side;  _I'm Deep Spec. Ops. Trained for this with mem-purge tanks set up for each recharge._

"Hmph. Tactics think it was a planned targeted attack."

"What?"

"They took out a great deal of the Support and the warriors of Lucifer, including almost the  _entire smelting crew_."

Dino had enough mind to wince, and it wasn't even faked. Frag him blind, but he was also glad; he'd  _seen_  those smelters, and they weren't just for melting prisoners; which meant Charr was more than just a Core-World. " _Frag..._ "

"We think they just took the first opening they saw." Barricade hissed, claws twitching, 'field seething.

Even Dino couldn't blame him; he'd also lost friends in that attack, yet they were Decepticon, so that made it hurt less, or so he tried to tell himself. With an exvent, he nodded in agreement and steered the topic to safer ground. "When will I get to use the slave?"

Barricade hummed, then shrugged. "Let it enjoy a cycle," he said with a smirk. "It  _has_  earned some downtime for its actions."

 _That_  explained why Barricade wasn't making the slave watch the show, at least. "Of course. Is there anything else?"

"Did Earthbane give you a message?"

Dino mentally exvented and inclined his head to the side slightly, as if he was displeased to relay any message. "... She wants the slave to pay because it didn't save more of them."

Barricade's engine ticked over as he laughed, all four optics lit with mirth, and Dino could guess the reason. " _Of course_  she does.  _Pity_  I have the final say,  _isn't it_."

"Not at all, Barricade," Dino smirked. Perhaps the only redeeming trait about the Decepticon before him was Barricade  _did_  have some sort of moral code, as warped and twisted as it was. "Quite the opposite."

"Hmph. You gonna watch?"

He dug deeper into the Decepticon mentality he'd built for himself. "For a time until I have other...  _entertainments_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, reviews, etc. are always loved and wanted.  
> 
> Decepticon pacifism is typically defencism. Basically, they're against war/violence, yet accept it happens/that they might have the body of a killing machine. They simply will never be the first to inflict it, yet they will defend themselves with it if they have no other means or can call violent deterrence justified. Most of these guys tend to be those who can work seeming miracles in their job field.
> 
> Anything else is typically a Very Bad Thing, because they'll try and cure it the only way they know how. For all their 'we need every life', they /are/ Decepticons. This is why Megatron 'forgets Cease Fire exists' when you think he'd be happy for a sort of heir. For now, she's safe-ish as a Cadet.


	20. New Kaon; three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you ask Barricade, dealing with traitors is very fun. Better when he's part of the team helping to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, and how short this chapter is. The last year's basically been Not Good, and is likely to continue that way for a while. So, while this isn't abandoned, I can't promise timely updates. 
> 
>  **Warnings** for semi-graphic (graphic?) torture, and Vos and Barricade, who are fun to write.

**(Of dealing with traitors)**  
Compared to the almost ramshackle shanty tent town feel of this part of New Kaon, the Central Clearing was almost a park, yet not quite. Unlike the parks scattered around New Kaon, this one lacked well-tented shade, seats and the random stalls that came and went, selling anything under the suns and moons that dominated New Kaon's skies. No, it was more of a sloped clearing with a single stage that seemed to dominate a good third of the place. Hewn out of the very rock when they'd first settled on the world and placed into position by the Command Cohort themselves, Vos knew it could fit all the Command-Cohort, but not the Totality.

He'd be up on it the few times it had, almost always perched on a shoulder or held in riffle-mode by one of his team.

Kaon was at one end with a few of the camera techs they'd rounded up, including Reflector. fiddling with the broadcasting equipment to sync it up with the long rang Commtech brought in off the Tyranny, while Tesarus fussed with the prisoners, grinder twitching against its locks.

 _Nickel'll have a field day_ , Vos thought with a snort as he vaulted up onto the stage, not bothering with the steps.

He didn't want to defile his feet with traitor purge, even if he'd made them all lick it up. For Science, of course, _not_ because he was bored and feeling petty and needed to get his kicks _somehow_ before the main show started.

It hadn't helped that Barricade, who'd been granted permission to play with them, had egged him on, and once again, he marvelled at _how_ Wildrider had managed to score such a catch. How the Stunticons had scored perhaps two of the most interesting mecha of a generation he'd never know, and he was, dare he say it, jealous. But that was neither here or now, and he could poke at the shocktrooper later.

"Tarn?" he asked in stilted Neo-Cybex, peering up and up at the grinder, 'field flaring at the startled squawks from the soon to be very very in pieces traitors. This Tesarus was new enough she didn't understand much, if anything, of his prefered language. Which made it hard, but not impossible to ask where the DJD commander was.

"Dunno," Tesarus said with a frown. "Wasn't he in Withdrawl?"

Vos grimaced with a slight nod. Dealing with the survivors would not have been so complicated an issue had that not also meant dealing with non-adults and supports, and then escorting Cease Fire, Voltage, and the prisoners to New Kaon.

Even Tarn had limits and that limit had been reached.

"Oh," the grinder said. "It's gonna be _messy_ fun."

Vos grunted with a nod. Tarn at his limit never used his gift.

Think of his Amica, and the distinctive step-transform-step and acidic tell of a near burned out 'cog caught his attention. Vos flashed a Look at the traitors then vaulted off the stage, as if he'd been Sparked to the Iga clan.

He'd never tell. His past was his own thank you very much; plus, his attention was on Tarn. With swiftness born of a near teravorn, Vos was at his Amica's side in a klik, all but shoving the tiny, Nickel-approved vile of Nuke into Tarn's hand. That done, he backed off with a respectful nod, keeping himself just out of reach. It'd do nothing about the outlier's gift, but it was a risk he was well acquainted with.

Especially when Tarn was like this.

Thankfully Tarn was just Fix'd enough - if that was the jet's condition and Vos flashed a downward 'w' at it, laughing at the glare. Awww. Did he hurt a plaything's feelings? Pffft, too bad, so sad - that he was rather genteel in how he didn't quite toss the contents of the vile into his mouth. Though there was no denying, to Vos at least, how it was swirled around the Executioner's mouth several times before being swallowed.

Primus bestow blessings upon the Prion who seemed to be one step ahead in knowing what they needed _when_ they needed it, and Vos still wasn't sure if she was a type of minicon or just a minibot. She seemed too mature to be a minicon, and yet she had her moments of immaturity.

"More?"

" _No_." Vos shook his head slightly to accent the meaning behind the Vernacular; the Nuke was enough to give the fix that this would not be a mindless energonbath.

Tarn's 'field gave the impression of a scowl; Vos up-cocked his head with a Look, trigger clicking as he pointed at the Traitors.

"Very well," Tarn nodded, holding his hand out. Vos squinted at the half curled hand, yet Tarn made no move to grab or invade his personal bubble. It was good enough and the sniper rifle clambered up onto his Amica's shoulder to perch as if he were a cyberhawk. "Nickel's orders, I assume?"

" _Yep_ ," Vos nodded, and Tarn sighed, but the disappointment in his field settled as he strode forth, leaving Pharma in the dubious care of Helex with a handflick. Vos gave a backhanded wave, chuckling when the jet squawked as he was herded over to where Nickel waited. While they wouldn't need them outside a few things, they did need the pair to extract the t-cogs. Pharma was marginally better than Nickel, but the Prion made up for that when it came to installing them. Together, they made a great team.

" _We're almost ready_."

"Good." Tarn exvented, reaching up to brush a friendly hand over the gunformer's leg. "I saw Krok earlier."

" _We're the plague to him_." Sadly in an almost literal sense.

"I am aware," Tarn sighed, hand scrubbing the mask he wore. "But do you not find fault in his actions?"

" _After what Kaon did to him a few vee back, and the times before?_ " Vos shook his head as back plating ached at the memories. " _I still got the burns on my feelers._ " Burns that ached and reminded him of the power _this_ Kaon possessed. Burns that were ugly and would take a long megavorn to heal.

Sometimes, he wanted the mnemosurgeon Kaon back.

"Soon he'll be an adult," Tarn murmured as he stroked Vos's leg, optics tracking briefly to where a group of cadets and several guards sat on the hillside, then back to the steps of the stage. "I do wonder how Kaon'll react to his 'trinket' being out of his direct control."

" _Abuse his rank,_ " Vos sneered, even if his 'field seemed to relax under his Amica's touch. " _Even before he joined, he was like that._ "

Tarn's exvent was non-committal; truth be told, neither Tarn nor Vos cared much for the get, and Kaon only cared because it was an outlier Sparked of two outliers. The upside was the fight between Kaon and Krok that would happen would be entertaining, if not savagely one-sided and _not_ in Kaon's favour.

Assuming it happened. Tarn liked this Kaon well enough for his ability and the willingness to be creative with torture. That they didn't have a mnemosurgeon anymore was a small price to pay. Though, given what the last mnemosurgeon had been...

Cold optics slid towards where 'The Pet' sat, chain tethered to a pole they'd possibly use on the traitors later. Finding out she'd been a beastformer had arguably spared it. It became an amusing in-joke.

To say nothing of how pleased he'd had been to successfully pull it off. He shifted, buoyed by the reminder of what he'd done, and grinned. " _We should start, yea_?"

"Naturally."

If he didn't know better, he'd say Tarn was abusing his gift. But no, the spike of anticipatory pleasure was his own, and Vos knew his 'field bleed it as Tarn climbed the steps.

Tarn had barely climbed to the top when Vos vaulted off him. He landed in a crouch, then stood and made a show of stretching and cracking his knuckles, before pointing at one of the hapless traitors.

"Yuoh ferst," it was the best he was capable; Neo-Cybex was a horrid language. Grating and unpleasant and refused to learn more than he had, even at Tarn's urging.

But, they'd promised a show, and it would be delivered in all its horrific, gory, glory.

* * *

 _There was always something to be said about watching the DJD work_ , Barricade thought as he flicked energon from his claws, carefully stepping back with a differential bow as Helex took hold of the traitor.

Well, what remained of it. It still had all its limbs, but it was a mess of wires and tubing, of internals-turned externals. Of cuts and welds and molten metal, of optics picked out and the helm delicately picked apart to show the brain-module. Of limbs expertly crippled and plating pulled apart just so to cause the most agony while still keeping it alive.

Off to the side, a cameramech stood, dutifully recording this one's fate.

The stage was drenched in energon, gore, crushed parts, and limbs, bodies scattered across it like ragdolls. Tarn was crouched by one, working it over while another of the cameramechs recorded the grisly deed. Even a stray sparkcasing lay somewhere within the carnage and Barricade didn't know, didn't care to determine where it had fallen after The Pet had been through chewing the spark it'd once housed to shreds, Kaon having denied it permission to eat said spark.

Barricade had been delighted to work with such a group, and watching as Helex slowly, carefully started to stretch the limbs of the traitor left Barricade dizzy with appreciation that only heightened as the gathered crowd chanted and bayed for the traitor to suffer even more.

Ah. Energonlust fueled mob mentality. It helped that many of those that died had been _innocents_.

"You wanna do it?" Helex asked, jerking Barricade back into focus.

"It would be an honour," Barricade said with a cruel smile as he reached up to the taunt wrist joint. It was one of the few areas still covered in protometal and armour. Carefully, slowly, he inserted a claw, grinning darkly at the howl of pain and beg to stop.

He wriggled the claw once. Twice. Thrice, then pulled it almost all the way out before pushing it back in, this time curving it along the mechanoid's arm. "See," he said as he pulled out, only to add another claw. "My creations were on the ship."

"S-so?" the traitor managed to whimper out.

"Imagine, had they _died_..." He wriggled the claws again, this time with enough force so the claws pierced the armour. "I wouldn't get to see my youngest's attempts at block towers, or the first true steps, or watch her paint. Nor would I listen to my eldest's first sparkbreak."

He wretched his claws free, grinning manically. The words were _truth_ , and while the DJD might not care to make it personal, Barricade did. He _wanted_ to teach Bladeswitch to walk, to watch her grow and become the Decepticon he knew she would. To _be_ there for Earthbane when she did have her first sparkbreak, if only to prevent it turning to sparkhate. He made to start on the second wrist, only to find Vos there, mimicking what he'd done.

Barricade swallowed, shifting, uncertain as Vos rattled something off.

"He wants t'share," Helex supplied helpfully and Barricade nodded, resigning himself to sharing. No matter, he had a job to do and he liked it. As much as he hated sharing, he _liked_ inflicting pain.

His claws trailed up the ruined arm, dipped into the elbow joint then continued up to the shoulder. He scratched at the paint as he considered his next move. Ideally, he'd go for the back, hit all the sensitive clusters and tubbing that were no longer protected by kibble. Yet, he hadn't really had a chance to _truly_ experiment on the front and sides.

"Why did you do it?" He asked instead, even if he knew the answer.

"Money- they said-"

"You'd be _safe_?" His laugh was joined by Vos's, and Barricade smiled a smile of too many teeth. The top set of optics flicked to Vos, and with the bottomset, he saw the traitor flinch. Yea, two sets of optics, thank you very much. He got them from his sire. "I'd like a cube of the energon?"

Vos nodded, a dark glint in his optics as he barked what Barricade could only assume to be an order of some kind. The assumption proved to be correct as a standard cube for energon was soon in his claws, the support -a minicon?!- backing away.

Without hesitation, he slashed open an exposed energon line and set the cube up to catch the resultant energon. "My brat will _enjoy_ this paint."

Probably get it all over him too, but oh well. Trying to tell an orns-old sparkling 'no' only led to headaches.

Then, after only a klick had passed, Barricade withdrew the cube, smiled, crouched, and took a lick of the free-flowing energon. He made sure to jab his glossa into the wound, pushing it in as far as it'd go.

Just because he _could_.

Above him, he heard the distinctive click of Vos's facemask being removed and the spikes deployed.

Too bad it muffled the screams, but oh well. As long as it died via bleed out, he didn't really care.

* * *

"We're _leaving_ ," Cease Fire said, voice barely above a whisper.

"'Fire- We can't. My Sire-"

"I- I'm pulling Poltical Rank. T-The show's over!" It was stated more than said, the Cadet's optics narrowed when Voltage opened his mouth to protest. "My Sire _outranks_ yours."

"But I'm Unit leader-" Voltage started, only to cut himself short at the near crumpled look on his friend's face.

"Yea, he does," Earthbane said with a nod as she stood. "Let get out of here."

Cease Fire nodded with a relieved smile, motioned to the guards, and then lead them away, back straight, head high. _/Hey, wanna see if we can go get_ highgrade _?/_

 _/I'm in!/_ Voltage said with a cackle, ignoring the odd looks from the guards.

 _/We're gonna get into trouble-/_ Earthbane whined, even as she followed after the pair.

 _/It'll be worth it,/_ Cease Fire said with a rotorshrug. _/There's a bar in the Destro' District..../_

They decided they did not want to know how Cease Fire knew. Probably from Whirlybird. Plus, Cease Fire _was_ Megatron's heir; lots of mecha tried to curry favour with her just because of that.

Plus, getting into a bar while being tailed by guards? Kinda sounded like _fun_ , and they really, really needed that right now.


	21. New Kaon; First extra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all reviews! They really do make my day.
> 
> It should be noted that when I first started writing/planning this way back in 2013, before the rewrite of early 2016, More Than Meets The Eye was very early in its run. That vastly influenced my take on what the TFA versions of the DJD would be like, including the names for most of them

The _Devil's Own_ was more of a hole in the wall joint than a bar; small and cozy, it was considered to be one of the exclusive places, yet it somehow maintained that relaxed, casual air. Right now, it was empty save the bartender, her sleeping ornling, and Krok. The rest of his Unit elsewhere.

Radar and Fulcrum had absconded into one of the many bunkers within a three hundred kilometre radius and Krok was not looking forward to dragging them out, even though Radar was, technically, Fulcrum's guard; Misfire had somehow become entangled in a game of Auto-Con; Flywheels was at one of the Temples to Primus; Crankcase had been dragged off by Spinister towards the main medical area, while Firebug had taken off to another temple for one of the many minor faiths that had sprung up.

Krok needed a drink or ten, and the megacycle was barely half done and he felt old, if not pleased that some of the traitors had been brought to justice. Was it overkill? Yes.

Did he care? Not particularly.

"Something stronger this time, 'Kill," he called, pushing the empty shot glass towards Diamondkill, ignoring his bitty baby sister's sigh. But as long as he didn't wake the ornling, he was welcome to as many drinks as he paid for.

If only his attempts to get drunk had lasted.

"Never took you for drinking, Krok."

Of course that voice came just as he least wanted it.

"Kaon." He jerked slightly, yet barely glanced up from the drink he'd yet tasted, unwilling to face the DJD mech. "They don't have it."

"I'm not here for _that_ , traitor."

Krok straightened to hide the flinch, optics narrowing dangerously at his ex-lover. "I heard you made Voltage watch your playtime."

"Yes," the DJD mech hissed, air crackling with electricity and an open threat that told Krok he was walking a thin line as far as the other outlier was concerned. Yet it gave Krok all he needed to know: Kaon was drunk. Possibly high. Likely both, and it was just wonderful. Krok inhaled as if he could will himself slightly more sober for this. Kaon didn't seem to notice or care. "He _is_ mine."

The monoformer exvented heavily, refusing to allow neither fear nor painful memories of Kaon -no, _Flashpoint_ \- to cloud his resolve. For frag's sake, they were both within the Command Cohort and about the same rank, Megatron's favoured or no, and it'd been vorns since it'd last happened. "He's _also_ mine."

Though, technically speaking, Krok _was_ the higher ranked of the pair, and unlike the last time they'd spoke, he'd been sober and not a near transformation into his drink, which made all the difference in _how_ willing he was to deal with this. Again.

Yet at the same time, some part of him still loved Flashpoint despite knowing everything had been a lie, that he'd been _used_. Yet, that was then and this was now, and Krok did not want to fight; the only reason he wasn't raising his voice. "He's mine, and I have _right_ to him."

It was also most funny the way Kaon's face was an ugly snarl of denial and anger for all of a klick before it morphed into a look of shock. Sparks and electricity crackled, yet they extended no further than maybe a foot from his body, as if some sort of shield were around him. "Y-You-"

Krok's smile was more a tired smirk. He might not throw his power around, but, he was an outlier of the same calibre  _Soundwave_ had been. Kaon had seemingly forgotten that. Or perhaps grown cocky with his rise in rank.

"We've been over this," Krok continued as he looked back at his drink, ignoring the fact Kaon and his electricity were pinned in place. "We," he waved the now half empty glass between him and the DJD mecha, "were but a fling that _you_ decided meant _more_."

As if Krok wanted more than flings.

"We had a _sparkling_ -"

"We were a fling for all of two orns. Do you know how many flings result in brats?" Around a third of them, and Krok still wasn't sure how he even felt about it. "I thought I made it clear, but..." he shrugged, taking another gulp of his drink. "I was wrong."

If Kaon had any retorts, he didn't hear it even if the DJD mech had been able to speak, and neither did his sister.

/ _Tarn. I suggest you come retrieve Kaon. Now._ /

He didn't get a reply, but he knew Tarn would show up soon enough; likely in a mood, but Krok didn't care. In the meantime, he pointedly ignored Flashpoint's look of venomous hatred. He needed like twenty more drinks, just to deal with this. "Hey, 'Kill. 'nother one?"

His sister handed him an unopened bottle of Energex. "Y'sure know how t'pick 'em."

He dipped his head with a slight, mirthless shrug. There was a reason he'd taken to deep space in the last megavorn and it started, and ended, with Flashpoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, comments, concrit always welcome.


	22. New Kaon; Final

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a slave's view of Dino.
> 
> Or: Bluestreak only sees the 'Con that clawed his way to the position he has now. It's not a nice view...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo ok. Last of the New Kaon stuff before we go see what everyone else is up to.
> 
> Bluestreak is a mess, so. Some nasty C-PTSD happening, self-depersonalisation, self-victim-blaming, and probably a bunch of other Not Nice Things. Please tread with caution. This is not a happy chapter.

**(Of a slave's view of Dino.)**

"Up, slave."

The voice of the creche matron was sharp, cutting through the light fog of recharge like a lightning whip though too-thin plating. His head jerked up as he stood, optics wide as he stared at the tank, wavering side to side slightly as sluggish overclocked gyros struggled to compensate against the sudden movement. He cocked his head to the right with a weak engine tick; all he dared of a question.

This wasn't the cycleformer on Lucifer who'd sometimes taken pity and allowed him time to gain some precious recharge.

"Yer t'retern t'ya mahser's qu'tas."

The New Kaon accent was heavy and thick, deeper than Lucifer's high-pitched tones designed to carry over the smelters and forges, yet understandable for the most part. Bluestreak's optics darted towards where Bladeswitch was aft-scooting her way towards one of the hover toys; this one brilliant yellow and caustic lime with flashing lights and sounds designed to attract and keep a sparkling's fickle attention. The matron smirked. "She steis 'ti'er Sire com's."

Doorwings shot up in alarm, yet Bluestreak backed out of the massive reinforced tent that acted as one of the multiple creshes. He was less than eager to attend Barricade, but more than eager to avoid his master come seeking him.

He came to his master's tent and entered, thoroughly expecting Barricade and more than ready to do whatever it took to please the Decepticon and his fractious moods. He was a good slave even as hatred burned within his spark. A good berth slave was ready to please, always, no matter _what_ was asked of them.

It ensured survival, and if he had to get creative, then so be it. _Anything_ to live.

He expected Barricade, not Dino.

His spark almost guttered then and there in pure terror.

Dino, Barricade's Second-in-Command and one of the cruellest mecha he knew, nevermind the kindness Dino could give out when it amused him. Dino was also odd and Bluestreak couldn't help but associate him to a Towers Noble, more so given the blue-and-white had seated himself in an effortlessly elegant sprawl on what passed for a chair, datapad in hand.

Blades stowed. Thankfully, if you asked Bluestreak, who's fans stalled for several kliks even as he fought down the rising panic at what was about to be expected -demanded- of him. The few times he'd been with the Decepticon had been in a three or foursome alongside Barricade and or Wildrider, sometimes Cy-kil or Dreadfire; Dino hadn't been kind.

Sure, it had been better than what Wildrider or Cy-kil often did, but – he'd heard the tales. Dino could be sickeningly kind, make you forget he was a 'Con for a few cycles, make you _want_ what happened, but he was also not a mecha to cross. His cruelty well known to those of Lucifer, and probably beyond. It was said he'd killed more than his share of slaves in his time, sometimes on a whim because he was _bored_.

He'd also seen him punish grunts, and those armblades were nothing to laugh over.

Now he was alone with the Second of his master's Unit.

And at the expectant look, Bluestreak realised he'd frozen in the doorway, vents and fans dumping heat as fast as it flooded him. Shoulders hunched, doorwings down and pinioned in submission and EM-field clamped as tight as possible, Bluestreak approached and knelt before the Second, helm bowed. Even if he wanted to, he dare not make a sound outside what his systems did naturally.

He was so _fragged_ , yet he could - he _had_ to - salvage this. He had to, there was no other choice. Failure was - well, he could picture all the ways he'd be tortured for the slight he'd given the mecha who might as well _be_ his master at this point in time.

He was perfect in his submission and he had not started this off on the wrong pede. Of that he wanted to make sure, even as he forced doorwings down further, swallowing the engine-whimper of pain. As kind as his master had been this megacycle, if he wasn't perfectly obedient to the Second, then Bluestreak knew how very, very fragged he was and that wasn't factoring in Wildrider's reaction, and the mech was like, half the galaxy away. Barricade had no qualms putting on vid-shows.

Nor was that factoring in _Dino_ 's reaction.

Claws tilted his head up, and Bluestreak averted his optics so he didn't meet the 'Con's repaired optics. Mismatched, abomination. He was no more a Tower Noble than he was part of their species. Yet the abomination held his life in claws that prickled against his chin, one of them thumbing his mouth, sliding in when it opened without much prompting.

Bluestreak suckled on it, working copper-threaded glossa over the claw carefully yet tantalisingly. Doing a proper job now would keep the pain to moderate levels when the plug was thrust into his mouth or array, right?

"What to do with you..."

Bluestreak's spark _hammered_ in its casing as the claw withdrew, hand cupping his face briefly before leaving, and gesturing at the makeshift sleeping area that was more a pile of thin foam and metalcloth than any true berths. "Recharge."

Bluestreak blinked.

What – but – he –. He couldn't help it; a thin, bewildered, questioning engine-and-fan sound made its way from his frame, even as the slave cringed, optics screwing shut as he tensed against the blow that would come.

Questioning orders was not what a slave did, _ever_.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ _worthless_ scrap metal of a thing that wasn't worth the metal that made up its frame. This might as well have been his master with the power of life and death over him, and he knew how much Barricade loathed being disobeyed and there was going to be a show-.

Yet the blow never came, and Bluestreak forced his optics open as his mind shrieked at him that he absolutely should _not_ do that. He's had them taken before, what if-?

All Dino did was exvent and stand, peering down at the slave with a frightening unreadable look that had Bluestreak's tanks threating to purge what little energon he had. Another exvent, this one more a huff, then the Second made his way over to the makeshift berth, settled himself, and patted the place beside him.

Bluestreak wanted, desperately, to run as far away as possible, but that was asking to be fragged forty-eight ways to the Pit, and _then_ some.

A quick invent, and he shifted to his hands and knees. Cautiously, the once sniper made his way over, terrified yet eager to obey, if only because he wanted to avoid any more pain than what was coming. Would come, because the klik he was on the berth-

He ruthlessly cut that line of thought and shoved survival protocol down its throat.

He came to a halt at the edge of the berth, head low, exposing the spinal cabling along the back of his neck. While damage there wouldn't kill him, it'd be almost an orn before he was healed enough to even think of doing more than being a convenient frag for anyone who wanted him, or do more than vaguely walking short distances.

Dino's claws traced the cabling, and the former sniper whimpered, lowering his helm until it was pressed to the cloth, aft in the air, legs spread as if he were a bestial waiting to be rutted. The soft click signalled his array was open, even as he started to shake, unable to ask or even beg an explanation as to _what_ Dino wanted from him.

Too many things ran through his mind and he really did _not_ want to think about them, thank you.

The best he could manage was do what he'd been cruelly trained to do and hope it was enough, even as claws quested over his back and along doorwings that were kept utterly still, even though he wanted to wretch them away from the claws. He hated this, _despised_ being powerless. He was going to be hurt, punished and it was his own fault because he wasn't fragging perfect enough and hadn't salvaged the situation. Dino was going to tell Barricade, and Barricade would add to the pain -

"Very well trained."

Bluestreak's engine ticked over in what he hoped was an agreeable sound. He was, he was; he was very, very well trained.

"Recharge, Bluestreak. That's _all_ I desire of you." Dino said softly, hand leaving the slave's frame.

Understanding bloomed in Bluestreak's processor; he'd been napping all megacycle when he could, and Dino had been _allowing_ him. His aft sagged as relief gusted his 'field as it poked out before he yanked it back in and pretended no, that was just his vents; Dino chuckled, yet Bluestreak did not care. This was a kindness he wasn't expecting and he loved the 'Con for it, even as he made himself comfortable. Yet, Bluestreak still gingerly pressed against the other; his job – his role in life was to please. That's all he was good for, and that Dino would allow him recharge and allow him to not only snuggle, but use his thigh as a pillow was unprecedented. But, he wasn't going to protest the kindness, nor was he willing to turn his nose up at any hint of it that was shown.

Not now; not when he so desperately craved recharge, not just nap.

Only once Bluestreak was solidly in recharge did Dino drape one of the thinner cloth sheets over him, mouth twisting in a half-smile as Bluestreak snuggled into it.

He pinged Barricade a reminder re: picking up Bladeswitch - and gained the predictable 'busy'. Dino rolled his optics then turned back to his datapad. He did want to discover how the story ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On one hand, I love Bluestreak. On the other hand, Dino has done some Things to get into the position he now has.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	23. Hidden Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has perhaps too much time on his hands. He also has a secret~.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of time skip and lead into the next few chapters before we skip off to the rest of the major players. Two megacycles is about an Earth month or two 'days' for Cybertronians.

**(Of hidden secrets.)**

He’d been stuck in one of the cargo holds of _Death's Head_ since they’d landed here nearly _seven cycles_ ago and Lockdown had left to take care of a bounty or two, yet _again_. At least this time he hoped he wouldn't be subjected to the faint screams coming from the front of the ship. Screams that meant Lockdown was collecting trophies.

At least his upgrades had been put in, even if he didn't _feel_ any different.

Prowl had become overly familiar with the smallish 'hold he'd been repeatedly locked into, as it seemed every time they'd landed the last two or so megacycles, he'd been tossed in, bodily once or twice, and left to his thoughts.

Prowl didn't even have to think that hard about why; the answer was obvious. He wasn't left energon; he was fed when Lockdown returned, and Prowl wasn't sure he wanted to unpack the meaning behind _that_.  
  
Escape, while seemingly an option, was _the_ worst idea. Possibly since he'd decided to draft-dodge _and_ deface the Meiryō Dojo - Yoketron's dojo- at the same time in _broad daylight_. Maybe even worse.

He'd only been taken under Yoketron's wing, not... what had happened.  
  
The escape had been a learning experience he _didn't_ care to repeat. The blasted collar activated if he strayed closer than a certain distance to the door and plunged him into a world of pain. It was _excruciating_ and attempting to power through it to his goal simply made matters so much _worse_. He'd barely retreated before dropping offline from the pain.  
  
The predicament he'd found himself in probably had _not_ been helped by the fact he'd shuriken'd the keypad to open the door.  
  
Waking had found him stasis cuffed, restrained, and forced to watch Lockdown as he stripped some poor bounty of everything while keeping it alive until the end. A _reminder_ of what his drawn-out fate would be, _if_ he pushed Lockdown too far. Lockdown had said as much.

Prowl had taken it to heart. It could have been a _lot_ worse.  
  
This outpost, Prowl learned from the single data file left to him, one that distinctly did not and would never link to the outside world, had extended into a temporary camp for what Lockdown called Decepticon 'Noncombatants'. Prowl wasn’t sure he even _believed_ Lockdown on the subject or the promise of a venture outside once business was taken care of.  
  
Not after the through 'education' he'd gotten on what going near the door would bring if the collar was not explicitly disabled.  
  
Not after he’d been so thoroughly _tricked_ into becoming a slave.  
  
Sure, Lockdown worded it nicer and claimed there was a difference between toy and pet, but that didn’t change a single fact.  
  
Prowl was in this situation of his own doing and was, _technically_ , a traitor. Escape now seemed impossible and he was under no pretences about what would happen if he managed to escape. Lockdown would find him and things would go from bad to very, _very_ worse, and his spark clenched in terror at the thought.  
  
He did not want to end up like the bounty.  
  
Or worse yet, he’d find the Autobots and they’d send him to the Stockades, and the terror turned into near blinding panic. Oh, he’d get to explain his plight, but he knew what happened to those thought of as traitors. The trials were _never_ fair. He wouldn’t stand a chance.  
  
But, he wasn't a traitor, of that he was _sure_. He'd done what he had to to _survive_.  
  
He supposed his treatment hadn’t been horrible, outside that single escape attempt. Lockdown still kept to his part of the bargain. It wasn’t too bad, all factors considered.  
  
But he wasn’t free and the collar was like an iron weight of electricity around his neck. He supposed he’d adapt, eventually. He also missed his team, as annoying as some of them were, they were his friends. He should never have done what he’d done.  
  
Yet...  
  
Prowl scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the indents where the visor typically locked and clamped. He pinched the space with a groan. His thoughts were just going in circles and meditation offered no respite. No matter what angle he looked at it, he couldn’t have done anything different without putting millions of lives at risk and that was the least of his worries. Given what he knew about Lockdown now – he’d made the correct choice at the time. Doubting wouldn’t get him anywhere but caught in a thought loop of what ifs.  
  
Still, there wasn’t much to do _but_ sit and think. Or pace, if he so desired. Or stare at the door and –  
  
Startle -shoving the visor back on so _no-one_ , not even the mech that owned him, could ever see the true colour of his optics- as the door hissed open. Think of the Decepticon and he appears. “Lockdown?”  
  
Lockdown shoved a box at him and Prowl barely caught it. “Carry this and follow me.”  
  
Prowl froze with a dry swallow, flinching back when Lockdown paused at the threshold. _Frag no_ , his entire frame and even his _spark_ still ached from the collar. Lockdown must have seen the flinch, as he raised an opticridge expectantly.  
  
"Of course," Prowl nodded in grim acknowledgment; no choice but to trust he wasn't about to end up in a world of pain when he crossed that invisible line. He didn't, and he cautiously approached the grinning Decepticon, ready to bolt back to safety at the first hint of pain.  
  
Fragger, he thought even as relief gusted his field before he had the chance to clamp it tight. He _refused_ to give Lockdown satisfaction.  
  
"Keep up and it won't shock," Lockdown said by way of explanation, but his 'field was overflowing with the smugness of a glutted predator.  
  
"Understood," Prowl said with a resigned nod, waiting until Lockdown had his back on him before adjusting the visor so it was truly locked and clamped in place. Nothing short of Prowl himself unlocking and unclamping it would remove it.  
  
After all, _that colour_ , Yoketron had once said, _was asking for trouble_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for any and all comments or reviews you have.


	24. Markets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter, _Orion_ , _Sparklings and Hunters_ , and this fic have been brought into a more cohesive style. I've gone back and edited a few things, mostly spelling errors and one or two lines here and there to clarify things. I also hope to have caught all continuity errors. 

**(Of 'What do you mean Decepticons can be _domestic_?')**

Prowl couldn't deny -or hide- his dismay as he followed his captor out of the ship and onto the rocky and dismal world. Yet, he knew that meant nothing; the Decepticons could have eliminated any trace of organic life if there'd been any.

"It's a moon, kid," Lockdown had said with a chuckle. "Rocky one at that."

"I see," Prowl mumbled. Even if it would have been nice to see organic life, he knew it was a code-wisp of hope. Yet, he found he didn't care, because he was off the ship with a chance to stretch his _supposedly_ upgraded frame that was starting to feel like it wasn't (and he sincerely hoped Lockdown _hadn't_ taken out the upgrades...), if not his wheels, and he _refused_ to screw this up. Not when he _had_ to keep the bargain he'd struck or face the consequences. Consequences with too higher a price.

Plus, Lockdown had a sensor on him.

The outpost, near as Prowl could tell, was more a tent city that stretched to the horizon, where he could just make out more permanent structures. To say nothing of the bustle nor the ships in the sky. Not all of them hung in it, and those scattered about the sky like confetti were at best two and half times the size of the Death's Head.

To say nothing of the planetary backdrop of white clouds swirling across the unmoving rust-red and sandy-yellow below.

"Impressive," he muttered, turning his attention back to Lockdown as they headed into Tent City.

"New Kaon's sky's better," Lockdown said. "We'll pass by when we leave."

"New Kaon?" Prowl asked lowly as he lengthened his stride just a fraction to keep up. "Or-"

"The planet," was the answer, and somehow, Prowl believed  _that_  promise.

"I'd like that," he said as a way of thanks as he finally walked beside Lockdown, rather than follow.

They were maybe five hundred metres away from the ship when Prowl was unceremoniously yanked to the side by Lockdown, who muttered something - something Prowl couldn't quite understand.

Ankle....biter?  _what?_

"What-"

That was when a mecha just shy of Bumblebee's height dashed passed, and Prowl blinked, then blinked again, resting his optics. It was, he assumed, a Decepticon youngling (complete with brand on his shoulder), who'd stopped maybe ten paces or so away, a ball of metalcloth scrap clutched in his hands as he waved it around with what sounded like a war-cry, or a challenge while an oil-pellet gun jabbed towards the sky.

Prowl maned to catch a name: Manastorm, but little else, who poked his glossa out then took off running with a grin.

Another voice rang out, but Prowl didn't get time to think about it, as Lockdown shoved him back again as a group of younglings ran passed. Prowl counted about eight, maybe more, all of them under his own height.

It looked like they were playing some kind of game, but for the life of him, Prowl couldn’t figure out what it was and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Whatever it was, it looked something like training.

"Something the matter kid?"

"Those younglings-"

"Auto-Con." At Prowl’s confused look, Lookdown smirked. "Tag with cops-and-robbers. About a Unit's playing it."

Prowl huffed, unsure what to make of the glyphs attached to 'Unit'. "With  _guns_."

Lockdown snickered. "Oil-guns. They ain't-."

Prowl shot him a look. "They are  _younglings_ -"

"And most are  _Warbuild_. How else you think they’d improve their aim with moving targets?"

Prowl scowled and looked away. "I see." While he was happy with being off the ship - even if it was to carry a box of parts Lockdown wanted to trade for a new mod – younglings training was a distinctly uncomfortable notion. "They are _younglings_."

"They’re old enough to hold a weapon, darlin’." Lockdown shrugged and took a left, Prowl reluctantly trailing after him. "Most Sparklings can hold a blaster by three vee if they have to."

Prowl said nothing. There was nothing to say because with what he knew of Decepticons, that made perfect sense in a horrifying way. They didn’t coddle anyone, so why should he expect them to allow sparklings and younglings to act their age. Primus, he wouldn't past the brutes to upgrade them to final frames before they hit maturity at thirty-two vorn.

Legal age amongst most of the Commonwealth, but not the age he'd-

He silently exhaled, dismissed it from his mind for now, and followed Lockdown when the mech took another turn, this time into an open market street filled with a generally darker, but no less colourful, parade of colours.

While it was hardly what could be called crowded, Prowl kept close to Lockdown as they walked, well aware of the looks he garnered. But, for all his misgivings over being a slave, it seemed the collar around his neck mollified the more hostile looks. Not all, as one rather nasty, malicious look from what could have only been a sort of giant, monstrous mechanical crab (or a _very_   _Odd_  flier alt) in red-orange-purple and internal fluid splatter proved.

Prowl shuddered, walking a bit _closer_ to Lockdown.

"Don't let him get to you," Lockdown muttered as they passed the crabformer and his smaller green-and-gold companion.

"I won't," Prowl muttered, even as he cast a look back in time to see the green-and-gold cycleformer hold up a bolt of pink and blue fabricweave.

Prowl turned his attention away as fast as possible.  _Why_  anyone would want something the colours of internal fluids was beyond him and he wasn't sure he wanted to know anyway.

Unfortunately, the collar did nothing to stop what Prowl could only assume were derisive or snide comments, though at least he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t hear them when he could barely understand them at best. The glyphs and inflections were  _wrong_ , making little to no sense and what he could understand wasn't anything he wanted to think about.

The Ninja pushed that aside and focused firmly on the market.

It was shockingly _domestic_ for a war-based culture filled with brutes and Warbuilds, and Prowl wasn't sure what was _worse_ : how unDecepticon it seemed, or the fact he could see a myriad of different optic colours instead of the uniform red.

Including, he realised with a jolt, a great deal of mismatched optics paired red-blue.

 _Hybrids_?!

Prowl shivered and shoved it out of his mind. Not thinking about that, and thinking about the things for sale that ranged from energon and energex to glassware to all manner of weapons to various metalcloth weaves. Even a few fabricweaves were displayed up out of reach of grabbing youngling hands, plush and vibrant, costing a pretty credit.

The market-goers were diverse too, ranging from hulking tanks and fliers, to light and nimble altmodes like cycles and racer-frames. He swore he saw a number of minibots, a few Insecticons and beastformers, and even some Minicons who mostly sat on shoulders, and a few Decepticons with Autobot-blue optics and purple brands displayed proudly.

 _Traitors_ , he thought bitterly. Traitors and defectors who'd _willingly_ joined the Decepticons; those who  _deserved_  to be in the Stockades with the worst of the worst.

Not all Decepticons seemed to be market-goers though, with a number of smaller Decepticons running errands or helping the stalls. One or two looked like they were badgering what had to have been a tank over something, and here and there he thought he saw tiny fragile sparklings, either in metalcloth slings or simply clinging to Caretakers as they went about the megacycle.

Prowl had to fight down the urge to tear the sparklings away from the Decepticons; they had _no right_ to Caretake such a precious future, and he pointedly did not think about them as he followed Lockdown further down the street. Nor did he think about the slaves he saw. He wasn’t apathetic to his fellow Autobots plight, but there was _nothing_ he could do to help them and he knew it.

Eventually, they entered a covered stall – and Lockdown gestured for Prowl to place the box on the bench while the bounty hunter unsubbed at least another three boxes. "Oi! You got the things I asked for?"

The mech manning the stall looked in the boxes and nodded, seemingly satisfied, yet he still shot Lockdown a dirty look. "Wait. I collected good."

The mech gathered up the boxes and vanished into the back. It must have taken longer than expected, as soon Lockdown had a datapad out, tapping it with a scowl. Despite being in no hurry to return to the ship, Prowl couldn’t help but wonder why it was taking so long when it seemed as if Lockdown had arranged this beforehand.

Maybe he was annoyed because Lockdown spoke Standard 'Cybex when everyone else was speaking... whatever it was.

His answer came into the form of the black and red returning with another four boxes filled with various parts and maintenance tools, and it took Prowl a klik to realise it was, presumably, spares for him.

Assuming he was still getting upgrades after what he'd pulled. Lockdown hadn't said anything since, and that was perhaps the single most worrisome thing.

He had to hope some of the things were spares for him as well. 

"Are you done yet?" Lockdown made a point of gesturing with his hook and drawing himself up to his full height; it wasn't so much of a loom, but it was intimidating nonetheless and Prowl counted himself lucky he wasn't on the receiving end.

"Yes." The mech pushed the supplies towards Lockdown, though Prowl took hold of a box without a word while Lockdown subbed the rest of them, settling the rest of the business in the language Prowl did not understand a lick of, and that honestly made him _nervous_.

Half a breem later found them back on the move through the market, Prowl resigned to carrying a slightly heavier box. "Where are we going?" 

"Gotta see a friend for a few other things, then we'll go have a look at Korhal," the Decepticon nodded skywards. "Might take ya by the ruins." 

"That would be nice," Prowl agreed, shifting the box slightly as he took his place beside his captor as they headed towards their next destination. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for any comments/reviews you leave. If there's any questions, I'll do my best to answer them.


End file.
